Philomena
by Zymurgy
Summary: After a mysterious visitor arives to talk to Remus, during an order meeting, some suspect his loyalty. However, the visitor has nothing to do with the War, but with something that happened to Remus many years ago. no ships, no slash, PreHBP
1. The Alpha

**The Alpha**

Grimmauld Place was, as Sirius used to joke, grim and old. Fortunately, not many people could see it, for it was not a pretty sight even with the work which had been done. It now lacked an owner, but nothing had been done about that. Nothing had been done about that the last time it had been left without an owner, some fourteen years ago.

Therefore, the Order of the Phoenix continued to use it as their headquarters. It was safest, they agreed. Some would have said that staying in the house of a dead man was unlucky. The Order members, however were by and large a pragmatic lot, and would not be swayed by such arguments. If they were uncomfortable, they gritted their teeth, and kept on.

On a particularly foggy October night, they had called yet another meeting. The news was the same as it had always been; Voldemort was getting stronger, his main goal was to kill Harry Potter, and no, there was no way of attacking or getting rid of him at present.

"But, surely," said Mrs. Weasley, "you must have some idea of where he is, Severus."

Snape sighed. "I've told you once, twice, a thousand times. I don't know where the Dark Lord is, and I'm not likely to find out. All I can tell you is that it's somewhere with stone walls, and that could be anywhere."

"Can't you judge the distance," asked Kingsley hopefully, "when you Apparate?"

"It isn't normal Apparition," snapped Snape, "The Dark Lord Calls us. If we answer the Call, we are transported instantaneously to him. The usual knowledge of destination isn't required."

"And if you don't answer the Call?" asked Moody.

"Pain," answered Snape shortly, "what did you think? That he sends us a map when we're tardy?"

Moody was about to retort, when the unmistakable sound of the front door opening was heard. Several people leapt to their feet. Dumbledore raised a hand for silence. "It can't be," whispered Tonks, "we're all here, except for the children..."

There was a terrible silence, as all drew their wands, and waited. Surely the intruder would make the first move.

A voice called out, "You cannot hide, Moony! I have searched too long to lose you now!"

Remus sprang up, ran and silently to the door, and turned to his comrades. Expressions ranging from fear to confusion marked their faces.

"No time to explain," Remus said. "Stay here. Don't follow me."

Lupin slipped quickly through the door, gripping his wand tightly. He shut the door behind him, with a snap. For a fraction of a second, all were frozen in shock, with the exception of Snape, who was used to hiding emotions much deeper than surprise.

Snape drew his wand over his head in a wide ark, bringing it down with a swish, then to the left with a flick. "Shadrach," he whispered, and the concentration required for the spell was evident, even through his mask.

The entire wall before him shimmered, and became transparent.

A very tall, thin, man was standing at the other end of the room. His hair was a shade of reddish brown, streaked with gray, but the rest of his features were hidden, as he was bundled up against the cold, a black scarf across the lower half of his face.

"The spell is only one way," explained Severus. "I don't know what Lupin thinks he's doing, but we can interfere if necessary. I don't think our guest realizes we're here. Let's keep it that way."

Remus advanced towards him. The man seemed about to say something, but Remus held up a hand to stop him, and spun round to face the door. He began casting various complex Warding Spells, to prevent anybody from following him out, or the mysterious stranger from entering.

A silencing charm followed. It was a one-way charm, so that the Order could not hear Remus, but allowing Remus to hear the Order. Snape reversed it, quickly, quietly, and without detection.

Satisfied, Remus then turned to face the intruder. To the amazement of the Order, he knelt to the floor, and laid his wand on the ground, before walking up, unarmed, towards the stranger. The stranger pulled out a dagger, and laid it on the floor in the same manner, before advancing towards Remus.

The two met in the middle of the room, and began to stare steadily at each other. Suddenly, Remus arched his neck, and sank to the floor.

"Why do you hide from me?" asked the stranger, harshly pulling Remus back to his feet. "Why do you run?"

"Please," said Remus, not even attempting to struggle. "Ralf... I did not mean to hide myself from you. I know my duty."

"I have not been able to hear you for many months," snapped the man. He pulled Remus closer, and barred his teeth.

"I had not realized," said Remus, sounding desperate, "that the protections on the house were that strong."

The man pushed Remus away from him. Remus fell backwards into the wall, and sank to the floor. "You have not sought me in many years, Ralf," he snapped. "I did not think I would ever see you again."

Ralf's answer was short. "She's alive."

Remus blanched, and appeared, for the first time, to be frightened.

"Philomena?" he breathed, "I thought..."

Ralf's expression changed from one of anger, to a soft concern. He walked towards Remus, and helped him to his feet. "Yes," he said softly, "I know what you thought. I... I..."

"You didn't want me to get to know her," finished Remus, with a look of one who is trying to take in too much at once, "you didn't trust me."

"No," contradicted Ralf, "I was afraid."

Comprehension dawned on Remus' face. "The law?" he asked, sounding faintly amused, "you? Afraid of the law?"

"Yes," admitted Ralf, "I could explain, or bribe my way out of everything else. Perhaps I could even have got myself out of even this, but the Ministry would have killed her and you for it."

Remus nodded, once. "So why now?" he asked, quietly, his expression unreadable.

"Now," said Ralf, "I can no longer take care of her. You must know that the forces of the Dark One are rising, and what that means. I cannot leave the country with her legally, for legally she does not exist. I no longer have the connections I used to."

"Why not?" asked Remus, his face still carefully blank. "Have you given up your little... hobby?"

"I had to," answered Ralf, "for Philomena. I... I couldn't have her grow up seeing that."

"And so you must leave her in England," said Remus slowly. "What do you want with me? You must know that I will not join you."

The other man's frustration became apparent. "No, no, Moony, love," he said. "I need you to take care of her!"

For the first time, the Order saw Remus Lupin give in to anger. Violently, he struck the man across the face, knocking him to the ground. Shocked, the man lay still, as Remus stood over him.

"How dare you!" shouted Remus. "How you _dare _ask that of me! For years you have hidden my daughter from me! What do you expect? For the two of us to automatically form some sort of trust? For me to leap up and say, 'Thank you, Ralf, for stealing what could have been years of happiness, I'll just take the girl, and let you skip to Bolivia,'? For years I thought she was dead! For _years _I thought I had killed her! For years I lived in guilt, and fear. _How dare you_?"

For a moment, the silence rang, as Remus stood over the man with clenched fists.

Slowly the man scrambled to his feet and faced Remus. "What do you want?" he snapped, "For me to say I'm sorry? Even if I did, you wouldn't accept it and I wouldn't expect you to. You have every right to be angry with me."

For another long stretch, the two stared at each other again. Finally, Remus dropped his eyes. "I'm sorry," said Remus. "I ... forgot my duty."

"I will have the girl sent to your home," said the man quietly. "She has grown into a sweet, well tempered thing. She takes after you. I know it will be hard, but I have explained things to her, and she knows her place with you."

Remus said nothing, but wrapped his arms about himself and stared at the floor.

"I'm sorry, love," said Ralf, "for what I did, and for what I failed to do. In a way, I'm trying to make it up to both of you. I... I must go. I will write."

To the amazement of the watchers, Ralf kissed Remus tenderly on the forehead.

Remus looked up, startled, and gave a wan smile. "Tread safely, my heart," he said.

Ralf turned and took his dagger, and started to leave, quickly. He stopped suddenly at the door, and turned back towards Remus. "Tread safely, my heart," he repeated, before stepping out into the night.

For a moment, Remus stared at the door, lost in thought. He then gathered himself together and picked up his wand. With a sudden movement, he removed the wards and re-entered the room.

Lupin looked at the faces of his comrades, then turned to the transparent wall. Comprehension dawned, as he stared at Snape. They had seen and perhaps heard everything.

Remus suddenly looked very run down, tired and sick. He sank into the nearest chair, putting his head into his hands.

For a moment nobody spoke. Finally, it was Dumbledore who broke the silence. "Remus," he said sternly. "Explain yourself."

Remus looked up. "I didn't betray your trust," he said, correctly interpreting the angry stares of some. "I didn't tell him where to find us."

"Then how did he find us?" barked Moody. "There's no way to break a Fidelius."

"Who was he?" asked Dumbledore, his eyes showing confusion, betrayal, and just a hint of anger. "Explain."

"Yes," chorused the others. "Explain."

Remus stood, and looked Dumbledore in the eye. "He was my Alpha," he said shortly. "And a connection like that is stronger Magic than any Charm, even a Fidelius only deadens the link."

Only Dumbledore looked as though what Remus had said made any sense. "I didn't know you knew him," he answered slowly. "You told me that you never knew."

Remus looked defeated. "I lied," he admitted. "I had to. His claim for my silence was stronger than your claim for my trust."

The silence was terrible. The smell of hostility, anger, and confusion assaulted Remus. At long last, he said quietly, "I'm sorry," before Disapparating.

In an explosion of sound, everybody began to talk at once. In the ensuing chaos nobody noticed Dumbledore and Snape dissapear to a far corner of the room.

Albus talked quickly. "Severus," he said, "I don't know what's going on, but I'm sure Remus is trustworthy."

"I know he's trustworthy, Albus," interrupted Snape. "I was reading him."

"Never mind that, now," said Dumbledore. "You need to find him, and ascertain what happened. He's too useful to us to lose. I'll take care of things here, and cover for you. Take as long as needed, use your judgment, and for heaven's sake keep anyone from finding out."

Snape nodded and Disapparated. He may not have liked the situation, but he did know how to distance himself from a situation in order to handle it. If he hadn't been skilled at swiftly doing what needed to be done he'd have been dead long before.

Albus turned to the room full of angrily arguing wizards. "Quiet, all of you," he commanded, his voice radiating power.

All conversations stopped, as they turned to him, hoping for some form of explanation. Instead, Dumbledore swished his wand with surgical precision. "Obliviate!"


	2. Explanations

**Explanations**

In the meantime, Snape Apparated to Remus' cottage. He knew where it was quite well, having had to deliver the Wolfsbane Potion to it monthly. Dumbledore had insisted he continue to supply Remus, to recompense revealing his secret to the school. 

He saw that the lights were on, and nodded to himself in satisfaction. Gryffindors were predictable. A Slytherin would never have returned home, at least not in as obvious a way as that.

Severus breathed the crisp cold air, as he walked up the path to the door. It was too cold for October, and he sincerely hoped that the thin layer of snow on the ground was not going to stay until morning.

He knocked on the door, and waited. It didn't take long for Remus to answer. Snape felt the magic surround him as Remus' security system checked his data. Why they didn't have a system like this at Grimauld Place was clear: they didn't think they needed one.

For precisely that reason, Snape had known they would need it, sometime. He knew his point was proven, and that somebody would have the 'grand idea,' the next meeting, and conveniently forget his former arguments.

Remus opened the door, and looked at Snape, waiting for him to make the first move. "Would you let me in, Lupin," said Snape, "it is rather cold out here."

Remus stepped aside, and Snape walked in, taking off his cloak as he went. Surprisingly, he realized, Remus wasn't packing. In fact, it looked as though Remus wasn't worried at all: there was a kettle on the stove, a mug and a box of biscuits on the table.

"Will you join me for tea, Severus?" asked Remus, taking Snape's cloak and hanging it on a hook beside his own, "I just put the kettle on."

"It's none of my business, really, Lupin," said Snape, "but after a scene like that, I don't think you have time for an evening cuppa."

Remus smiled. "I thought Dumbledore would send you," he said, "and I wasn't interested in MadEye or Kingsley hexing me six ways past Sunday when they realized what was going on. Besides, I figured the last place anybody would look for me would be here."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "A plotting Gryffindor," he sneered, "very unusual. I do admit though, that you were right. I wouldn't like to be caught betraying the Order with Moody and Kingsley around. And those idiots would search England up and down before thinking that you actually might have gone home. As one master of misdirection to another, well done."

Remus shook his head. "My world has fallen apart," he said, "my Alpha's returned, my daughter's alive, half the Order will be after my blood, and Severus Snape is sitting in my kitchen, complementing my deviousness. I ought to wake up from this dream any minute, and find Poppy forcing fever medication down my throat."

"Damnit, Lupin," said Severus, "we don't have time for this. Dumbledore is taking care of the Order. I've been sent to take care of you. Quickly, now, an explanation, so I can take care of this mess."

Remus sighed. "I... Ralf is my Alpha," he said, quietly, "and if you ever read an accurate text on werewolves, you'd know what that means."

"It means he's the wolf that bit you," said Severus, all business, "or the leader of a pack of hereditary Werewolves."

Remus shuffled about the kitchen, finding a cup for Snape in the disorder that he loved. "It's not that simple," he said, "when a Wolf is bitten, as was my case, there's a bond formed. Rather like... rather like a traditional Wizarding marriage, only about twenty times stronger."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "That's... interesting," he said, at last, "I didn't know. Continue."

"An Alpha always knows where his Cub is, and how it is doing emotionally. The Alpha controls the link, controls the amount it can sense of the Cub, and how much the Cub can sense of him. Ralf cut my awareness of him off many, many years ago. It was quite a shock to me when the link opened up a few weeks ago."

"You didn't do anything about it?" Snape asked, "it would have been sensible to get a confrontation like that over with, before it can happen in a disastrous setting, like the meeting."

Remus sighed, again, and opened the box of biscuits. "He didn't open the link enough for me to be able to find him," he said, quietly, "but I knew he was looking for me. I did try to keep my emotions neutral, so that he would know it was safe to approach. That was all I could do."

"The Order heard your entire conversation," Snape remarked, taking a biscuit without bothering to ask, "and some of the conclusions they drew were rather odd."

"It has nothing to do with the Order, Voldemort, or anybody else," said Remus, "if it had, I would have said something. I... I don't want to talk about it."

Snape sighed. "Lupin," he said, carefully, "I don't know what Albus is doing to 'take care of,' the Order. But, trust me, they will want a damn good explanation when you get back. If I don't know the truth, I won't be able to lie convincingly enough to hide it."

Remus ran a hand through his hair, and sighed. "What makes you think I'm coming back?" he asked, "after all that's happened I..."

"Do you want to face a vengeful Albus armed with sherbet lemons?" asked Snape acidly.

Remus smiled, in that vague, gallows humor way of his, and shook his head no. "It's not that complicated," he said, after a moment. "It's just hard to understand."

"I won't be able to understand at all if you don't start talking," snapped Snape. "The sooner we get back with a good story, the better."

"Philomena was born while in our last year of school," said Remus. "For many reasons I thought I had killed her. That's when Ralf cut off our connection. I thought that was why. He wants me to take care of her now, while he gets out of England before He Who Must Not be Named gets too strong for that to be an option."

"Understandable," said Snape quietly, "but who is Philomena?"

Remus dropped his eyes, and refused to meet Severus' gaze. "My daughter," he said, at last.

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Your daughter?" he repeated, "and in our last year of Hogwarts? I had no idea you were involved with anybody then."

"And I had no idea you were monitoring my involvement," countered Remus.

"At the time," said Snape coolly, "I was already in charge of gathering information. I had to know who was what to whom. It was my job."

The kettle perked, and Remus busied himself with getting the tea ready. Snape knew a play for time when he saw one, and wisely kept quiet to give the werewolf time to think.

"That would be," said Remus at last, "because I wasn't."

"Weren't what?" asked Snape, in confusion.

"Wasn't involved," explained Remus. "Philomena... she's..."

Remus broke off his story, unsure of how to proceed. Snape stirred sugar and milk into his tea and waited.

"You know," said Remus at last, "one's Wolf form isn't like an Animagus form, which is geared to your personality. Your Wolf gets slapped on to you at random. It's like a universal roulette. Some people think it's influenced by the intention of the Wolf that bites, but I never put the theory to test."

Remus fell silent again, and ran his hand through his hair, trying to figure out how to go on. Finally, he decided to skip explaining things and just state facts, point blank. "My Wolf is female."

Snape hid his surprise with his training, and the fact that he had nearly spilled his tea with his dexterity. Remus sipped his tea and waited for a reaction from Snape.

"I had no idea," Severus said carefully, "that that was possible."

"It is," said Remus simply, "and an Alpha has that connection with his Cub for a reason."

Remus' words slowly sank into Severus. Surely, Lupin couldn't be implying that...

"I don't understand," Snape said. "If you're his cub, wouldn't that be..."

"For a human, perhaps, yes," said Remus, "but for a wolf, perfectly acceptable, and perfectly normal. There is a reason I've kept this secret so long."

"You... had this child in our last year of school," said Snape, outwardly calm but inwardly reeling, "and your friends didn't notice."

"They couldn't," said Remus. "They never saw me that way."

"You used concealing charms?" Snape asked perplexed. "That's not only extreamly complex Magic, but requires constant concentration to uphold."

"No," said Remus, "you don't understand. You see, Moony was pregnant. I was not. So the fact was only apparent in my wolf form."

"That doesn't explain why they didn't know," protested Snape. "You were always running with that pack of yours, terrorizing Hogsmead, attacking innocent students..."

"After your attack," said Remus softly, "I never let them stay with me again."

Snape didn't reply but took another biscuit. Remus, in turn, noticed a ploy for time and decided to continue his explanation.

"Like I said," he went on, "Moony was the one that was pregnant. And Moony only existed for a few days a month. It took nearly twelve years for Philomena to be born."

Snape's eyes widened in shock. "You mean that you... when you were..."

"I was twelve, yes," said Remus. "I don't want to talk about it."

"You never said anything?" asked Snape. "To anybody? That-"

"Would have gotten me killed," answered Remus. "Werewolves aren't legally allowed to have children. Not to mention the fact that Ralf had forbidden it."

"But he was the one that..."

"Yes, he bit me," snapped Remus. "Yes he... did that. But he is my Alpha. A Wolf cannot act against the will of their Alpha. This extends to human form only so far as those things that concern the wolf. For instance, if he ordered me to bite someone, I would be compelled to, but if he ordered me never to give you tea, it wouldn't apply."

Silence. Snape wasn't sure what to say, as thoughts chased around in his head.

"After she was born," said Remus quietly, "I couldn't remember a thing. After my transformation, I woke up in the Shack with the taste of blood in my mouth, and no sign of her. I received a note, which said merely that the child had been a girl, and was dead. Ralf had cut off the connection completely."

Nobody said anything for a while. "So that's why you were so distant from your friends during that year," said Snape quietly, almost to himself, "why you kept leaving without an explanation. We all thought..."

"You all thought I was a greasy double agent," snapped Remus, "who betrayed all of his friends."

Snape nodded.

"All right," said Remus coldly, "you have your explanation, you've drunk your tea, and you've eaten your biscuits. Run along to your master and report."

Snape sighed. "This is more difficult than I thought it would be," he said. "We can't possibly tell anybody the truth. You'd end up being killed, and so would she."

"Merlin, Snape," said Remus, "I didn't know you cared."

"Not personally," said Snape, "but I know that we can't afford to lose you, now, and I wouldn't have an innocent girl killed for no fault of her own."

Remus dropped his eyes again, and took a sip out of his empty teacup. Snape raised an eyebrow and wondered how people that bad at acting survived. "We have to find some explanation of Ralf's presence, how he found the place without your betraying the lot of us."

"I seriously doubt they'll believe anything we tell them," said Remus, resignedly, "because they all know no charm can break a Fidelius. Although Dumbledore being Secret Keaper, I couldn't have betrayed our location."

"Ah," said Snape, "Aurors won't stay for technicalities. They'll be wanting somebdody to blame, and it can't be Dumbledore. The least we can do is give them somebody else to suspect. Let's see now, Dumbledore has been looking for a good reason to cut off Mundungus for a while. If we explain that he... let something slip, in some pub somewhere, under the influence of his seventh beer, they might just believe us."

"Maybe," said Remus, "but that doesn't explain why this supposed eavesdropper in a bar just happened to be looking for _me_."

"That is a problem," admitted Snape. "We'll have to..."

The roar of flames and pop that could only mean a Floo call interrupted him. Remus got to his feet, and went into the next room, beckoning Snape to follow him. Albus Dumbledore's head floated merrily in the flames.

"Thank goodness," said Dumbledore. "I was running out of fireplaces to check."

Remus said nothing, but merely nodded. Snape, however, lost no time in falling to his knees next to the fireplace to better talk with Dumbledore. "What happened?" he asked quickly, "has the Order calmed down?"

"Oh," said Dumbledore happily, "the Order has been successfully Obliviated, and thinks that the two of you went on a mission in Muggle London."

Snape sighed, and exchanged a look with Lupin that said, quite clearly, that they could have both made up a better story while drunk on Ogden's Old, with one arm hexed, and a Necromancer after their blood.

"Now for your explanation, Remus," said Dumbledore, suddenly serious."I want an explanation."

Remus put his head in his hands. "You aren't going to get an explanation, Albus," said Snape shortly. "There are some things people's employers simply do not need to know. The incident concerns nobody but Remus."

Remus looked up in surprise and stared at Snape in shock.

Dumbledore merely blinked. "I trust you both," he said, "Merlin only knows why. However, if something like that happens again, I wouldn't bet on things going as smoothly."

"Thank you, sir," said Remus, finding his voice. "It most definitely will not happen again."

Dumbledore disappeared, and Snape found himself being stared at by a rather grateful werewolf.

"Contrary to popular belief," said Snape, getting to his feet, "I can keep secrets that need to be kept."

"I... thank you," said Remus, "I..."

"Spare me that," snapped Snape. "I have more to do than listen to a Gryffindor's stuttering thanks. We still need to think up a good way to explain to the order how you got yourself a daughter overnight. That is, if you take her in."

Remus' eyes flashed. "Of course I'll take her in," he said. "I have to."

"Well then," said Snape, "we need a story and a good one. Not that the Order would care, being Obliviated, but Dumbledore might put two and two together, and I'm sure you wouldn't want that."


	3. The Plan

**The Plan**

"I admit that it will be a problem," said Remus, "but there's no need for you to stay, really there isn't. You've done a lot just by getting rid of Albus for me, and I'm grateful. I'm sure you have things to do, and besides, the girl isn't even here yet. I'll take care of explanations and the like when she's arrived."

"Oh, do be reasonable, Lupin," snapped Snape. "I won't be able to sneak away from Albus for ages after this. He'll be dying to know what happened, and trying his best to get the story out of me. If he knows I've come back to you, before our monthly date, it'll only convince him that there's something up, he'll start scheming to understand it all. Add the appearance of a mysterious girl..."

Remus sighed. "You're right. I'm sorry for snapping. It's just..."

"You've been through a lot, and had to relive something you'd rather you'd forgotten," finished Snape shortly. "Is there more tea?"

Remus led the way back into the kitchen, and refilled Severus' cup.

"What do you suggest?" he asked, as he poured. "They all know very well that I haven't any relatives to speak of."

"Which rules out your claiming she's your cousin, or your niece," said Snape thoughtfully. "A daughter of a friend?"

"We're getting ahead of ourselves," said Remus. "I never met her, you remember, and I have no idea how much she'd be willing to play along. Any story we tell anybody else, we'll have to tell her, too."

Snape frowned. "What about your connection?" he asked. "Can't you simply forbid to speak of the fact that she's your daughter?"

Remus shook his head. "I'm not her Alpha, I'm her Dam. Ralf is her Alpha, and Ralf has the connection. If I were her Alpha, nothing in the world could have fooled me into believing she was dead."

An owl knocked on the window. Remus smiled apologetically, and went to let it in. The owl flew through the window, and landed on the table. Remus untied the scroll, and gave the owl a biscuit.

Lupin unrolled the letter, and read. He knitted his eyebrows in concentration. "Oh good God," he whispered, before letting the message fall to the table, leaving the room.

Snape, of course, lost no time in reading the message himself.

_Moony,_

_Some friends of mine will deliver Philomena to you tomorrow evening. She is a well-mannered, quiet little thing, and far wiser than a normal twelve year old. Like I said, I believe she takes after you. Who she takes after in looks, I have no idea. She reminds me of no one I have ever known, except for her mouth, which is yours._

_I have educated her at home, for, as you know, she does not exist legally and therefore could never go to a normal school. I have taught her all I know. She does have magic, and you will have to guide her with that, for, as you know, I have not the gift._

_And, Remus, I am cutting off the bond once more. Rest assured, however, that with Philomena it will be firmly in place, and if I get so much as a hint of discomfort, you will not be happy. By the time you read this, I will already be out of the country. You know me: get in, get on with it, get it over with, and get out._

_Of course, there is one thing I haven't told you. You remember when you first realized what was going on, and you were so frightened? And I told you the statistics? Nearly one hundred percent certainty that the child inherits the Curse? You've always been the different one, Remus J Lupin, always._

_Tread safely, my heart,_

_Grizz  
_

Snape frowned, and got up to find Lupin. He was in the bedroom, staring unseeingly into the fire. Snape wondered whether he had been crying. Snape watched him for a few minutes. Remus simply sat there, staring, as though he had been hit over the head with a broomstick.

"I don't understand," said Snape at last. "From what I understood, he implied the girl was not a Werewolf. Most would consider that news for rejoicing, but you look as though someone had died."

"I... I don't know, Severus," Remus answered finally. "I don't know what to do. I don't know her, I've never met her. I – I was hoping I could form some sort of bond during the transformation, but now... I have nothing at all in common with her. I don't know who she is. I... I can't do this."

"You said so yourself, Lupin," said Snape, "that you must do this. The child will be scared and confused when she arrives, that is certain. After all, the only ... father she has ever known has just left her life. She knows no more about you, than you do about her. Whatever you tell her, she will probably accept. Treat her kindly, and the rest will take care of itself."

Remus wondered whether Snape realized the irony involved when he talked about treating people kindly.

"How am I going to explain it?" asked Remus softly, "so that she understands? So that... so that the Order doesn't ask? So that Albus doesn't get to the bottom of it?"

Snape pondered for a minute. "What we need," he said abruptly, "is a red herring, and a rather large one, too. We'll put up so much smoke and mirrors, they'll never know where to look."

Remus blinked. "A red herring?" he repeated. "Just what do you have in mind?"

Snape hesitated. "You will have to trust me," he said, "and frankly, I don't know why I'm even doing this."

Remus nodded. "I trust you," he said, thinking of all the times Severus could have poisoned him for revenge. "I have for a very long time."

Snape allowed a slow smile to spread across his face. "We will simply have to let them believe," he said silkily, "that she's related to the wrong Order member."

Remus was stunned. Was Snape really offering to pretend to be related his daughter? His confusion must have shown, because Snape chuckled.

"Merlin," he said, gleefully rubbing his hands together, "this will be my masterpiece. I will deceive everyone at once! Albus, the Order, _everyone_. It will require quite a bit of acting, and a lot of finesse."

Remus stared at the man. To be sure, he knew that Snape had been treated unfairly by his fellow Order members. They had always had a lingering distrust of him, blamed him for nearly all failures, and sometimes deliberately didn't tell him vital information. Albus had always taken Snape for granted. He never asked Snape his opinion before sending him on a mission, and hadn't even bothered to thank him.

What Remus hadn't realized, until now, was just how personally Snape took this. Most people would scoff at the thought of Snape taking anything personally. Snape didn't allow anybody to see that anything affected him. True, he made a great show of anger, when he wanted to, but he would never admit to hurt.

Snape had built his façade, masking all emotions with indifference, scorn, or anger. It only stood to reason that he would welcome an opportunity to get revenge on all these people, assured that they would never know.

"Are you saying you'll pretend to be her..." started Remus.

"I have it," crowed Snape, glowing with the same eagerness he displayed when discovering a new apothecary, or when coming close to the final stage of some volatile potion. "You tell them she is your daughter, and simply refuse to give any details."

"Are you mad?" protested Remus. "That wouldn't get us anywhere!"

"On the contrary, Lupin," said Snape silkily. "It will get us everywhere. Think like a Slytherin, for once. Picture it. An ally of yours suddenly has a child they claim is their daughter, but refuses to tell you anything about her mother's whereabouts, or how the child came into their care. What do you think?"

Remus considered it. "I would think," he said at last, "that they had something to hide."

Snape smirked, and waited for him to continue.

"And I DO have something to hide," Remus burst out in confusion. "We would be hiding behind a big banner saying, 'don't look under this banner.' Very clever."

"You haven't seen it yet," Snape went onsmoothly. "Think. Your ally has a child, in a time of war, which obviously cannot be his own. What do you suspect?"

Slowly, Remus answered. "That he was covering up for somebody else. That the child was in danger, or would put its parents in danger."

"Exactly," said Severus, "the last thing you would think would be that the man, who is so obviously pretending, is exactly what he is pretending to be. Now, take it a step further. What would you think if another ally took the greatest pains to disassociate himself from the child, but occasionally... let slip that he cared for it?"

Comprehension dawned, at last. "They'd think she was yours!" Remus said. "They wouldn't know, but they would suspect she was yours! They'd spend all their time trying to prove it, trying to connect the two of you. I suspect Albus will even force the two of you to spend time together!"

Severus nodded. "My plan exacctly. They will be so busy looking for treachery, that they won't be able to believe the simple truth under their noses."

"As though," scoffed Remus, "the truth were ever simple."

Another silence fell. Remus began to feel uncomfortably as though he was missing something. He looked at Severus, who was watching him with a rather expectant look on his face. Lupin drew his eyebrows together in thought, trying to determine what was behind it, what part of the puzzle he wasn't seeing. Severus began his slow smile again, and Remus understood.

"You are willing to do all this for me, and for the girl. What is it that you want in return?"

Snape grinned. "I knew you'd see that," he said. "After all, I am a Slytherin, and I must have an ulterior motive."

Remus stared the man into the eye. "All right," he said, "what are your terms?"

Snape continued to grin. It was unnerving, as Remus couldn't recall having seen the man grin for some time. It looked oddly predatory, and Remus didn't like it at all.

"I don't think," he said, in a terribly calm, cool voice, "that you have anything I want."

Remus' face fell. "You've spent all this time dangling a chance at safety in front of my nose only to tell me I couldn't afford it. How very Slytherin of you. I should have known you could never forgive me."

Snape shook his head. "No, Lupin," he said softly, "I'm not going to leave such a golden opportunity."

"Then tell me," begged Remus desperately. "Tell me what it is you want!"

"Your word as a Wizard," demanded Snape, "that at any time in the future, when I am in need of a favor, that is in your power to give, you grant it to me."

"In effect," said Remus, "carte blanche for a future favor to repay this one?"

"Yes," confirmed Severus, "exactly."

Remus thought about it for a moment. He was sure Snape had made that offer with some particular favor in mind, and he didn't like the idea. Still, he knew he was no good as a liar on his own. Without Snape, people would ask uncomfortable questions, questions that could prove deadly to him.

He dropped his eyes to the floor. "I accept."


	4. Wizard's Honor

**Wizard's Honor**

Snape smiled in satisfaction when Lupin accepted his offer. He hadn't thought the other man would accept so easily. He had been prepared for a whole evening of persuasion, but apparently the man either trusted too easily, or was simply desperate.

"I would like to be here when the girl arrives," said Snape, throwing himself into an armchair across from Remus. "We will have to talk to her. People will surely try to get answers from her, when they begin to suspect."

Remus frowned. "I'm sure Ralf has already told her that she is to meet her father. I'm not sure whether he explained why she happens not to have a mother, or how he's explained his own relationship with her."

Snape made a gesture of dismissal with his left hand. "She has probably already been given an explanation of some sort, if she ever asked. Children accept the world they grow up in as normal. She won't ask why she hasn't got a mother, any more than she would ask why she has a father. As they grow older, they may realize something is a bit off, but they generally think up some explanation on their own, that makes sense to them."

Remus raised his eyebrows. "I didn't think you knew that much about child psychology," he said at last. "I never thought you even liked children."

"May I remind you, Lupin," said Snape, "that I have been teaching children for a good many years, and contrary to popular belief, it isn't just because Albus wants to keep an eye on me. As Head of my House, I've had to deal with a great many children on a level more personal than you might think. The Slytherin House is problematic, and I am sure I do more for my students than the other Heads. From what I understand, Minerva hasn't even set foot in her Common Room since Sirius Black attacked it. Besides, I have had plenty of experience, raising my nephews."

"Your nephews?" Remus asked, nonplussed.

"They are in France," said Snape shortly, "Twenty, and eighteen."

"I never knew," began Remus, startled, "that you-"

"That I what?" interrupted Snape, "That I had a family, that I actually did my job, that I am not just a tool of various people?"

"That's not what I meant," said Remus, chastised. "It's just... I never knew much about you at all. I never even knew you had siblings."

"That would be because Mordred never went to Hogwarts," said Snape bristling, "and I don't think any of this is any of your concern. I am here because of your problems. Besides, the less people know about me the happier, or at least the safer, I am."

"What do you suggest I tell her?" asked Remus, hoping Snape wasn't too offended. "So that when the Order inevitably tries to learn the truth from her, she'll knows what to answer?"

"Simple," said Snape, relaxing slightly, "we tell her nothing. As soon as she gets here, you tell her that I am Professor Snape, and that you are Remus Lupin. She will live with you, of course, but I'll be by often, so that she will learn to think of me as a friend. Then, at some convenient point, she'll be able to confuse everybody by not acting like a scared rabbit in my presence, as most children end up doing."

"Tell her nothing?" asked Remus. "Nothing at all?"

"The less she knows," said Snape, "the better. People will simply believe she is being stubborn, or that I have threatened her, when she refuses to give them the answers they want to hear."

"That's true," said Remus. "I finally realize how difficult your job actually is. If it's this confusing for a deception this small..."

"I am a Slytherin," said Snape, matter of factly. "This is what I do. It is only confusing to those not used to it. I don't understand how you can be the way you are, or how a Hufflepuff can be so stubborn, or a Ravenclaw so exasperatingly canny."

"It's late," said Remus. "You need to sleep."

"How much I sleep is none of your concern, Lupin," snapped Snape. "I have precious little time as it is. I promised Albus a report when I get back, and the longer I keep him waiting, the less likely it is that he'll try to give me a sherbet lemon."

"You mean," asked Remus, "there are times he doesn't offer them?"

"When he's angry at you," said Snape, "or when the house elves have inexplicably removed them from his office."

Remus' eyes widened in surprise. "You didn't..." he asked, on the verge of actual laughter for the first time in months. "You?"

"I'm sorry, Lupin," said Snape rising, "if I told you, I would have to kill you. Clichéd, I know, but unfortunately rather true. Thank goodness tomorrow is Saturday. If you do not mind, I will barge in here at a ghastly hour of the morning, so as to be sure to meet your daughter first thing. If you do mind, I will barge in anyway."

"Good night, Snape," said Remus, getting up and following Snape to the door, "I will see you tomorrow."

Snape took his cloak from the hook, and threw it about him. "Oh," he said, as he stepped out into the night, "and I will be expecting your formal oath on the matter as well."

Snape disappeared down the path. Lupin watched until he came to the edge of the wards, and Dissapparated. Remus went back inside, and sighed, sinking into a chair. The girl would have to have a room, he thought, and a bed. He would also have to prepare the formal oath for Severus in the morning. Trust a Slytherin to want solid proof of his word as a wizard.

Resigned to a night with little sleep, he got up, and set to work. His cottage was small, consisting of his room, the kitchen, the living room, the loft, and the basement. The basement was full of his books and his laboratory, so she would have to stay in the loft.

He climbed the ladder making a mental note to make a staircase with a banister and entered the room. He got out his wand, and went to work. Firstly, he got Bannished the layer of dust that covered everything. Secondly, he Transfigured a few pieces of debris into the furniture needed. A few Spells later, and the room had a cheery coat of paint, no holes in the wall, and a window.

Satisfied with the room, Remus climbed back down. He conjured up a flight of stairs in place of the ladder, and a trapdoor that he made sure could be opened from beneath as well as above. He supposed it was just too bad that his living room was now going to be used partly as a hallway, but there wasn't anything for it.

For once, Remus was thankful that his cottage was as simply furnished as it was. She would not have cause to complain that her room was stark or bare, as the rest of the house was the same. Still, he wished he could better provide for her. Then again, he had never thought he would have a chance to do anything for her at all.

He stumbled into his room, and grabbed a large sheet of parchment, a quill, and some ink from his desk, and then made his way down into the basement to his laboratory. As a Defense Against Dark Arts expert, Remus studied not only Defensive Spells, but a well rounded field of Magic. Part of just about every other subject could be used either offensively, or defensively, and Remus studied all of them. Herbology, Potions, Charms, even Arithmancy.

His laboratory contained a little of everything, and what he needed now was a Charm he had never thought he would need, but was nevertheless familiar with. He spread out the parchment on his worktable, and got out his ink and quill.

He wrote, "I, Remus Lupin, give my word, as a wizard, to Severus Snape, that I will give him his boon."

He blotted the words, carefully, and then got out his knife. The Charm required blood to activate it. He nicked a finger, and squeezed a few drops onto the parchment. They spattered down and stared back at him, bubbles of red reflecting his face.

He got out his wand, and said the charm. "Prevehte sanguine. Iusiurandum venefici iuro."

The blood sank into the parchment and saturated it, staining it pink. The words he had written began to glow before they too sank into the parchment, adding their essence to the blood and binding the Charm.

Remus stared at the stained parchment, and thought about what he had just done. The Oath was not used regularly for a good reason. It was not breakable, no matter what the circumstances. Whereas a wizard could understand such a thing as changed circumstances, which would prevent the carrying out of a promise, the Charm was absolute: The promise would have to be kept, and resistance resulted in a trancelike state, rather like imperius, which forced the castor to act out his promise to the letter.

Remus shut his eyes, and wondered again just what it was Severus wanted of him, and whether he would be able to live with giving it to him. For the thousandth time he cursed Ralf, and himself.

Remus shook his head to clear it, and got back to business. He cast his eye out for something to hold the charm, for a parchment was a bad binder for any Charm, and he knew Severus would not accept it in that form, and that only the Caster had the Power to transfer it.

His eye fell at last on a cloak pin, upon which he had cast several experimental protection charms, that he had intended to give to the testing committee later. It would do, he supposed, as well as anything else and the committee had given him several in case the experiments damaged any. The pin was a milky opal set in silver, an ideal binder.

He placed it on top of the parchment, and cast the Spell for transference. "Transmitte Iursurandum in Fibulam."

The parchment began to glow, and the Essence of the Charm slowly leaked into the opal, which began to glow as well. The blood, the ink, and the Charm itself began to swirl in the center of the stone, as the parchment fell limp and powerless to the side.

Instead of fusing together as they had with the parchment, the blood and the ink threaded out into strands of color, which began to knot themselves in a complicated weaving pattern throughout the stone. Their Magic bound itself with the Magic of the stone along with that of what was left of the Charms cast upon it earlier. Finally, the Magic stopped, and the Charm was complete.

The stone looked nothing like what it had earlier, not with the black and red stripes crossing and twisting within it. They continued to twist and pulse with a slow rhythm, and Remus knew they would continue to do so as long as the Charm was active. It was deep, strong Magic, and anybody who saw it would know that it was a powerful object, though recognizing what Charm was bound in it was impossible.

It was just too bad, Remus thought, that nobody would ever be able to see it, for he suspected Severus would place it in some drawer or cranny for safekeeping, never looking at it twice. It was a beautiful thing, made to hold a cloak shut at the throat, and the silver setting, though completely plain, was well and elegantly worked.

Remus pocketed the clasp and headed to bed, exhausted.


	5. Breakfast

**Breakfast**

The next morning, Remus awoke early, in spite of the trying night he had had. He made himself tea and wondered who would invade his home first, Snape, or those who were to bring his daughter to him. 

He wondered idly what his daughter looked like. All Ralf had said was that she had Remus' mouth. Remus had never really considered the shape of his mouth. In fact, he was sure he probably would not recognize it separated from the rest of his face.

He drank his tea, ate his toast, and decided that if he had to meet Snape early on a Saturday morning, the best way to do it was not in his pajamas. Briefly, he imagined what Snape would look like in pajamas and gave up immediately. He could not imagine Snape in anything but formal wizard robes.

It was hard to reconcile his childhood memories of Snape as a boy with his knowledge of Snape as he was at present. Snape was a very severe, always proper. That is, he was proper when he wasn't having a fit of anger. His dress was always impeccable, meticulous, neat. True, one rarely saw him in anything but black but, even so, he knew more ways of wearing black than anybody else.

Remus shook his head to himself and went back into his bedroom to dress. He chose his least shabby robe, which happened to be a light blue wool one, tossed aside his pajamas and stepped into it. The buttons ran down the left side of his neck, straight across his shoulder, and then down his side at an angle, ending at his navel.

The skirts of the robe were full, and wide, reaching to his ankles. The reason he didn't normally wear it, was that the bell shaped sleeves swept to the floor, which made it unwieldy to work in.

He sat down on the bed, pulled on his knee high black socks, followed by a pair of black shoes, which he buttoned to the ankle. He stood, and smoothed his robes, and surveyed himself in the mirror. He grabbed a brush, and attacked his shaggy hair, until he improved it from an untidy mess to what could possibly be described as 'windswept.'

Just then, his Wards rang out, warning him that somebody had entered the Anti-Disapparation field. He waited nervously for the visitor to reach the door, so that the Wards would tell him who was there.

About a minute later, the Wards activated, and words formed in smoke in front of him:

Recognized: Greasy Git

Armed: Wand

Emotion: No reading available

Remus smiled. The Wards had never been able to read any emotion in Severus whatsoever. Remus waved a hand to alter the memory of the Wards, and changed "Greasy Git," to "The Enigma," before dispelling the reading with another wave.

He grabbed the Charm and pocketed it, before hurrying to the door, and flinging it open. Snape fell into the room, looking tired, and a little the worse for the wear. Wordlessly, he fell into the nearest chair, and shrugged out of his cloak. Remus took the cloak, and hung it up, staring at his visitor over his shoulder.

"Are you all right?" he asked concernedly.

"And a good morning to you, too, Lupin," sniped Snape. "I am perfectly fine. I wasn't a moment ago. Have you any Murtlap?"

"Of course," said Remus. "I'll be right back."

Remus hurried down the steps into the basement and rummaged among his ingredients, finally finding a bottle and hurrying back with it. There he saw that Snape had removed his gloves to reveal a bloody left wrist.

Biting his tongue to prevent his questions from spilling out, Remus quickly got out a bowl and filled it with the foul smelling liquid, before placing it gently in front of Snape. Snape sank his hand deep into the bowl, and let out a sigh of relief.

Remus raised his eyebrows as he watched the blood disappear from the wound. It was very deep, slashing a good inch from the base of his hand, down the vein, ending just short of touching the Dark Mark. Remus could tell that the standard first aid Spell for stopping bleeding had been preformed on it, but seemingly some time after it had been inflicted.

"Before you ask, Lupin," said Snape almost lazily, "no, I haven't tried to kill myself, and no, I won't tell you about it, and if you tell Albus I will hex you senseless."

Remus seated himself across from the man, and said simply, "Of course."

"Has she arrived yet?" asked Snape.

"No, she hasn't," answered Remus, far more lightly than he felt. "I've made toast. Are you hungry?"

"I'm famished," said Snape. "I've missed breakfast."

"I'll make you something," said Remus, hopping up, and crossing the floor quickly. "It'll only take a moment."

"Don't bother," said Snape. "No need to go into extra trouble."

"It's no bother," said Remus easily, handing him the plate of toast. "Here, eat that."

Snape grabbed a slice with his right hand and began to eat it slowly, obviously holding back.

"I have some eggs," said Remus, getting them out from the cabinet, which was charmed to keep cool and preserve the contents, "I'll make you an omelet."

"I suppose resistance is useless?" asked Snape tiredly. "You're beginning to sound like Albus, to tell the truth. Did you know that the main reason I followed you around in school was that I was trying to prove you were related to the old man?"

Remus laughed. "No," he said, breaking a few eggs into a bowl. "I didn't. But I do know that you nearly always eat a cheese omelet at breakfast."

"Do I?" said Snape. "I didn't notice."

"Not paying attention to what you eat," remarked Remus, adding milk and whipping wildly with a fork, "can have rather negative results, as a Potions Master, like yourself, ought to know."

"I make sure it's safe," Snape said, his eyes closed, "and I eat it. I don't very much care what it is."

"Really," said Remus dryly, putting butter in the frying pan, and activating the heating Charm, "and just why did you think I was related to Albus?"

"You had a weekly tea in his office," remarked Snape, "and nobody else had the privilege. It was the only reasonable explanation, besides the rather obvious one that he was checking up on whether or not his pet had eaten anybody lately."

The butter began to sizzle loudly, and Remus poured in the egg, and sprinkled cheese into the mixture, along with some chopped parsley. Remus outwardly appeared calm, but the Wolf had taken quite an offence to being called a pet, and wanted desperately to do something drastic.

"Down, girl," Remus mentally commanded. "Not now."

The Wolf subsided, sulkily, and Remus flipped the omelet, keeping his back to Snape. Snape bit his tongue, to prevent a worse insult from flying into the air, reminding himself that he was trying to keep to Lupin's good side for the time being.

Remus took the pan off the heat, and cooled it, but not the contents, before setting it down next to the Murtlap. He handed Severus a fork. Snape raised an eyebrow, but took it without comment.

"If you wondering why I haven't given you a plate," Remus said, "it's because my scrubbing brush has a feud with the plates on account of a unfortunate incident involving the affections of one of my teaspoons. I don't fancy having another argument with it, either."

Snape smirked. "You could always Deanimate the blasted thing, Lupin. Or are you not capable of that field of Magic."

Remus sighed. "If I Deanimate the scrubbing brush, I'd have to Deanimate the entire kitchen. The spoons would never forgive me, and then they'd be angry with the plate for starting things, and the plates would then blame the glassware..."

Snape raised his eyebrows, and shrugged. "You make a good omelet," he said after a taste. "I wouldn't have thought you could cook, after seeing you for so many years in Potions class."

"It's not quite the same thing," said Remus. "I don't have to stir in a particular directions, I don't need to measure carefully, and adding ingredients in the wrong order doesn't have life threatening consequences."

Snape shrugged, and concentrated on his food. The wound on his wrist had closed, and was pulsing quietly with the Energy of the healing Magic.

"Here's the Oath," said Remus, taking the clasp out of his pocket. "I did it last night."

Snape lay down his fork, and took the clasp.

"You bound it in this?" he asked, nonplussed. "Are you sure you can spare it?"

Remus gave a shrug. "I have a dozen from the committee, for my experiment on personal protective Charms. One won't make a difference, and opal is a far better binder than anything else I had on hand."

"It's the best binder there is," said Snape, "except for the claw of a Phoenix and they aren't legal."

"The silver has had a leaching effect, though," said Remus. "It gradually pulls the charm out of the stone into itself, if the binding charm isn't strong enough, which drastically reduces it's effectivity. In this case though, it won't make a difference because the leaching only starts when the spell is not active."

"The committee should have known better," said Snape, "considering the danger involved in such things."

"The committee got them at a good price," countered Remus, "and it's rather short of funds at the moment, considering how it's an illegal, or at least, not an officially recognized organization."

Snape stared at the clasp for a moment, fascinated by the knotting and unknotting threads of red and black. He turned it over and over in his hand. "They ought at least to have known better than to give you anything silver."

Remus shook his head, and laughed softly. "The silver story people love to tell is a myth started by jewelers and knife smiths to popularize expensive items. If you ever meet a Werewolf on the rampage, I recommend running as fast as you can, starting a fire, or having a very large axe handy for a quick beheading."

Snape opened his mouth and shut it quickly with a snap.

"It's all right," said Remus casually, "nobody actually bothers to ask the experts. They're generally too frightened, too arrogant, or just too stupid. That bit of a lie is all over most textbooks and so called research material available on the subject."

"I don't see how it managed to persist for so many years," said Severus disbelievingly. "It's in texts as old as sixteen fourteen."

"Simple," said Remus. "We started it."

Snape blinked in surprise.

"Can you imagine what a good it's done us?" said Remus. "The grand business for those who work in that area, and the safety it gives to the rest of us?

"Safety?" asked Snape, staring at Remus in confusion. "I don't understand."

"Don't you see?" answered Remus. "People begin to suspect you, and confront you about it, threaten you with the Regulation for Control of Magical Creatures. You laugh at them for being paranoid, touch a bit of silver, and they leave you alone."

"Very Slytherin," was all Snape would say. "But very Gryffindor of you to actually tell an outsider."

"Nobody would believe you if you told them," said Remus casually, sitting down opposite Snape, "because nobody has bothered even to try to test it. When a werewolf is discovered, he's either someone like me, who's registered with the Ministry, and makes sure, to the best of his ability, that nothing happens, or a savage beast. The registered werewolf is then ostracized from his community, and restarts elsewhere, and the beast is put down, in either form, in the usual method."

"And in the case of a sadistic enemy who figures a taste of burning metal would be fun?" asked Severus.

"I may be a Werewolf, and a Gryffindor, Severus," said Remus, "But I know how to act sufficiently terrified."

Snape had no answer to that, and removed his arm from the frothing essence. Remus immediately handed him a dishtowel from nearby. Snape dried off his arm, and quickly hid it beneath his robes as usual.

He then took up the clasp again, along with his wand. "Confirmare," he intoned, and a faint pink smoke hovered above the clasp for a fraction of a second before Severus Dispelled it with a wave of his hand.

Remus refrained from commenting on Severus' lack of trust, and simply cast a purifying Charm on the Murtlap essence, before returning it to the bottle. Severus gave the clasp one last considering glance, before shocking Remus completely by wearing it at his throat.

"There's no need to actually wear the thing," said Remus, not sure why he did so. "I just used it because of the bonding quality."

"You're asking a Slytherin not to wear a constant reminder of a debt a Gryffindore owes him?" asked Snape, taking up the fork and attacking his eggs with renewed vigor. "Impossible."


	6. Philomena

**Philomena**

Remus sighed, and took the bottle of Murtlap back to his lab. He was re-shelving it, when the warning ring of the Wards startled him.

So, he thought to himself, it was time. He slipped an annoying lock of hair back behind his ear where it belonged, brushed some butter off the end of one of his annoying sleeves, and walked up the stairs. He reckoned they had a few minutes before they reached the house.

Amazingly, knowing when his daughter was about to arrive made him more nervous than being uncertain had. At least before he could tell himself that he had plenty of time, that perhaps they would be delayed, that Ralf would spring up from behind a bush, and say, "April Fools! You really ARE a murderer."

Remus shook his head. That last mental image had been silly, even for him, as it was October. He hurried up the stairs, and found that Severus had finished the eggs and polished off the toast.

"Feeling better?" Remus asked.

"Much," answered Snape tartly. "What was that blasted gong?"

"My Wards," explained Remus. "They've crossed the Anitapparition line."

"Ah ha," said Severus. "Then, please, let us go over this one more time: We hope against hope that Dumbledore thinks your argument with Ralf was an elaborate ploy, by me, to make everybody believe she is yours. You pretend to be just what you are. I pretend to be pretending that I'm not what I'm pretending to be. We tell this girl nothing at all about who's pretending to be whom. We are content to behave like civilized people for the duration of the present situation.

Remus blinked. "Let me see if I've got it straight. I have to pretend to be pretending to be me, while pretending I'm not, so that they can think you're pretending not to be me, while you pretend to pretend you're not me, so everyone thinks you are me, while we both pretend to be civilized people?"

Snape tried to think out what Remus had said for about a second, and gave up. He settled for a curt nod, and hoped to goodness the Gryffindor wouldn't foul up his plans. Finally, the visitors had reached the house, and the smoke words formed in the air before Remus:

Parties Not Recognized.

1st Party:

Sex: Male

Age: 42

Armed: Revolver

Emotion: Exhausted, angered, frustrated.

2nd Party

Sex: Female

Armed: no weapon.

Emotion: Nervous, tired.

Remus blinked, dispelled the smoke, and tried to muster up a confident attitude. "That must be them," he said, and opened the door.

A short, dark haired man, stood there, carrying two large trunks. Beside him was a girl. She was small, and looked about twelve. Her face was pale and thin, with starkly defined features. Her nose had a sharp angle, and her chin came to a point. Dark hair curled about her face, giving it a heart shape, as it jutted down her forehead in a widow's peak.

"Come in, come in," said Remus, taking the trunks quickly from the man, and shoving them out of the way. "Get out of the cold, have a seat."

"Lupin?" asked the man, looking from Remus to Snape. "Ralf sent me."

The girl had stepped in and shut the door, looking curiously about the room.

"Yes," said Remus, seemingly at a total loss for words. "Thank you very much for bringing her over. Would you... would you stay for a cup of tea?"

Snape sighed inwardly. What was it about Gryffindors that made them try to solve problems with tea and sweets? Not that Severus didn't like tea or sweets, but there was a time and place for everything.

"I'll make tea, Remus," said Severus, switching his persona so much that Remus blinked at him in surprise. "Don't trouble yourself."

"So you're Remus, then," said the man sourly. "Good thing you've finally decided to take some interest in your daughter's life. Letting your brother slave over her all these years was unforgivable- and I don't care about all that tosh about you having a terrible disease, because you didn't never even write or nothin'. You just walked out on the poor thing, her mother dead, and all, and..."

"Stop it," commanded the child, in a clear high tone. "Sop that, Uncle Gordon, or I shall tell Uncle Ralf what you did."

Remus gaped at one and then the other in astonishment. Was that the story Ralf had told? That he was her Uncle, and that Remus was chronically ill? What exactly did the girl know?

"I..." began Remus, "that is, I..."

"Oh do stop stuttering, Lupin," said Snape, sounding cheerful. "The man is understandably a little upset. After all, he doesn't know you were comatose until a few months ago."

Remus realized his mouth was open, and shut it with a snap. He looked from the girl, to her uncle, to Snape who, to Remus' amazement, had actually put on the green apron that had hung behind the door, had already put the tea on, and was busily washing the breakfast dishes.

"And just who are you?" demanded Gordon. "What are you doing here?"

Snape giggled, and Remus decided he had finally gone crazy. Snape just didn't do that sort of thing. Remus realized just what a great actor Snape really was. Snape was probably seething inside, and imagining murdering the newcomer in a number of unpleasant ways.

"Comatose?" stuttered Gordon. "Nobody ever told me anything about..."

Remus realized that standing in the middle of the room wearing a dazed expression wasn't making the best first impression. He smiled in an apologetic manner and said, "Yes, I was, for nearly eighteen years. A bit of a nasty shock it was for me, when I realized that half the people I knew had passed on, and that I'd missed my own graduation. When I got Ralf's letter, and realized I had a daughter, I had to at least try to take her in."

"Yes," said Snape, "he had been in a rather unfortunate motorcycle accident. I'm amazed he survived at all, and even the doctors didn't think he'd ever regain his consciousness."

"He'd never have let you have her," snapped Gordon, "if he didn't have to leave the country. And you still haven't told me just who you are."

"I'm Severus Snape," said Snape, rummaging about for some teacups. "I've been taking care of Remus for years. I assure you, if I'd known he had a daughter, or indeed, any relatives at all besides me, I would have done something."

Almost imperceptibly, Snape managed to catch Remus' eye for a second, and jerked his head towards the door. Taking this as a cue to leave the room, Remus turned to the girl and said, far more easily than he thought, "Come, Philomena, let's take your things up to your room."

He got out his wand and levitated the trunks with a quick "Mobiliimpedimenta," and he walked through the door, beckoning for the girl to follow him.

She walked with a type of serene grace, as though she was completely confident, and not in the least nervous. Remus knew enough about children to know it was an act, even without the emotion reading he'd got from the Wards.

He took her through the living room, and up the staircase, undoing the trap door. The luggage floated through first, and he hopped up into the loft second, before kneeling to give her a hand up. She took it, though she didn't seem to need it, and looked around.

"It's not a lot," he said, noticing her eyes flit over the bare room, "but I hadn't really had a lot of time to prepare, or..."

"Why did you lie to Uncle Gordon?" she asked quietly, turning back to face him. "You weren't sick. You were a wolf."

Remus blinked, and sighed. "Yes," he admitted, "I still am, sometimes, but..."

"It's all right," she said. "Uncle Ralf told me you had medicine now, which kept you safe, so I'm not worried. I just wondered why nobody ever tells Uncle Gordon the truth."

"I..." sad Remus, squatting awkwardly beside the girl to look into her face better, "you know about Magic? And how... some people can do it, and other people can't?"

She nodded. "Yes," she said seriously. "Uncle Ralf said that I could, and that you could, but that he and Uncle Gordon couldn't, butI wasn't to tell Uncle Gordon about it because he would think I was being silly."

"You see," said Remus, "people who... who can't do Magic, they don't... they don't really understand. They think we're insane, or that they're insane, or they try to make us do what they have in mind. Most people think that the less these people know about our world, the better."

Philomena was silent as she digested the information.

"I'll help you unpack," said Remus, opening the first trunk. "We'll find a place for all your things."

Philomena opened the second trunk. "Uncle Ralf said you knew lots of Magic," she said, "and that you'd teach me."

"Of course," said Remus casually, taking out a stack of folded shirts. "You should have started training a year ago. Unharnessed power is an extremely dangerous thing."

Philomena bit her lip, and began placing various articles of clothing into the dresser. Remus smelled her tension, and turned to smile warmly at her. "What's wrong?" he asked. "Do you miss your ... uncle?"

"It's not that," she said. "It's... is... is magic really hard?"

Remus grinned at her. "Not all of it," he answered lightly. "There's some that's really easy, so easy a baby could do it. And there's some of it so hard that I can't do it. Or even so hard that Dumbledore can't do it."

The child just stared at him, before answering slowly, "It's just that Uncle Ralf couldn't do it. It would have to to be very, hard for Uncle Ralf not to be able to do it. Uncle Ralf can do everything."

"I... haven't seen your Uncle Ralf in a long time," said Remus diplomatically. "What sort of things does he do?"

"He teaches me things," said Philomena blinking. "What else would he do?"

"What kind of things?" pressed Remus.

"Oh, he taught me to read, and to write," she rattled off. "To do maths, and some history, and biology, and geography, and geometry, a little bit of French, and Latin. I don't know why he wanted me to learn Latin, but he always just said it would help me later. He taught me some fighting, and he was going to start on fencing when I got big enough..."

"And when he's not teaching you?" prompted Remus.

"Then he isn't home, of course," she said simply. "He has business."

"He doesn't do anything else?" asked Remus. "He just teaches?"

"He has business," said Philomena. "Lots and lots of important business. It's so important, I'm not allowed to know what it is."

"What happens when he isn't there?" asked Remus, trying to keep bewilderment and anger out of his voice. "When he's ... on business?"

"Then I have to stay with Uncle Gordon," she said, "which isn't bad because I can play with Hanna and Sidney."

"Are they your... cousins?" hazarded Remus.

"Oh, no," she said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world, "because Uncle Gordon isn't my uncle. I just call him that because I like him."

"Oh," said Remus, a bit nonplussed, starting to shelve the girl's numerous books.

"Do you have lots of business?" asked Philomena, tossing a box onto the bed. "What do you do?"

Remus smiled, easily. "I don't have a lot of business, no," he said, "and most of what I do, I do at home, in the laboratory downstairs. I make protective spells, against dark magic."

"Then you'll stay with me?" she asked, "You won't go away?"

"I won't ever leave you alone," he said seriously, "I promise."


	7. The Potions Master

**The Potions Master  
**

They were silent, as they continued to unpack. Remus drew his eyebrows together when he noticed something odd. The child had clothing, and books, but othing else. Every book was strictly educational. 

Suddenly, they heard the door slam with a crash. Alarmed, Remus charged down the stairs,. Philomena followed in a stately, ladylike gate. In the kitchen, they found Snape, sans apron, looking murderously at the shut door.

"What happened?" asked Remus.

"Oh, nothing," said Snape, sounding like he had just given two weeks' detention to a Weasley. "I simply remarked to Gordon that if he cared so much for the welfare of the child, he might as well take her in himself."

"Not to worry," said Philomena serenely, seating herself primly on Remus' chair. "Uncle Gordon doesn't like me very much."

"But I thought you just said that-" started Remus, but he was interrupted when she held up her right hand.

"I did say I liked him," she said, "but that doesn't necessarily means that he likes me. I'm afraid the feeling is not reciprocated."

"He's... very protective," said Remus warily, wondering, for the hundredth time, just what he'd been thinking when he'd let Ralf walk out of Grimauld place unharmed.

"Well," said the child, "that's because he is in denial."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Just who," he drawled, seating himself languidly, "was responsible for your education, Ms. Lupin?"

"Uncle Ralf, of course," said Philomena. "Who else?"

"You were not enrolled at a school thus far?" asked Snape, pretending he honestly didn't know the answers. "You stayed at home?"

"Of course," she said nodding. "I have an... illness. My Uncle said I shouldn't be around other people, much. He said Remus would be able to fix it."

Snape raised his eyebrows to Remus, who shrugged helplessly.

"What sort of illness?" asked Snape. "I am a Potions Master, and I should be able to find something for whatever it is you are afflicted with."

Philomena fixed her eyes on him. "I... have fits," she admitted. "And ... I see things. They aren't really there. Sometimes they happen, later. Sometimes they don't."

Remus blanched. Of all the things for Ralf to forget to tell him, that the child was having visions was perhaps the worst.

Snape merely blinked, untroubled. "What are the symptoms?" he asked, with a clinical directness.

Philomena, seemed not to be bothered by either Snape or questions. "They tell me I freeze up and that I stare into space, but I never notice that myself because I'm too caught up with the dreams. I can't tell they aren't real until they are over."

Snape nodded. "I see. You have the gift of foresight."

Philomena blinked. "My Uncle said, that it was a curse."

Snape's face was completely devoid of expression. "That depends on your point of view."

"Do you have something?" asked Remus, finding his voice. "To stop the visions, I mean."

"Of course," replied Snape, "Cassandra's Draught. I'll send it as soon as I get back from Albus. He'll be expecting a report, you see."

"Did he torment you last night about what happened?" asked Remus, who abruptly realized that there was a full pan of eggs on the table. "What did you tell him?"

"Nothing," said Snape serenely.

"Really? Wish I'd been there," said Remus.

Remus turned to Philomena, who had listened to the conversation with interest.

"You must be hungry," said Remus, "Severus made the eggs. I'll get you a plate."

"Willing to brave the wrath of the scrubbing brush?" asked Severus, with a perfectly strait face, "for a child you've barely met, while I, whom you have known since childhood, must be content with the frying pan?"

"I'll simply have to bribe the teaspoon to keep the peace," answered Remus, handing the girl a plate and a fork, "by letting her live in the sugar bowl for a few days."

"Are you magical too?" asked Philomena, looking at Snape curiously, "or are the Potions just medicine?"

Snape stared at her as he did when he was trying not to hex Albus for offering a sherbet lemon. "I am a wizard, yes," he said silkily, "and I am a Potions Master. Potions are not... just medicine. They are an intricate art, and can be used to heal, to harm, or merely in fun. I will teach you."

"I should like that," said Philomena, "very much."

Snape smiled, yes, actually smiled at her. Remus blinked. He wondered whether Snape had slipped into another persona, as he had earlier to get rid of Gordon, or whether Snape was actually and genuinely smiling at his daughter. For some reason he found the thought slightly disturbing.

"May I use your Floo?" asked Severus. "I don't fancy the walk back to the edge of your wards, or the one up to the castle."

"Of course," said Remus, "travel safe."

Snape rose, and nodded politely towards the two of them. "I wish you both a good evening," he said, "Remus, Ms. Lupin."

With that, he swept out of the room. They heard him call "Albus' Office!" followed by the roar of the Floo.

"I like him," said Philomena, matter of factly.

"You seem to like a lot of people," said Remus.

"I don't think it's a good idea not to like people," said Philomena, "except in extreme circumstances. It's safer."

"Did your Uncle teach you that?"

"No. I just learned," she said.

XXX

Severus arrived in Albus' office.

Albus looked up from a bowl of what looked like alphabet soup, in Mermish. "Tea, Severus?" he asked.

Snape sat down. "No," said Snape, "I don't want any tea. I had plenty of tea running around today."

"Anything serious?" asked Albus, tactfully not mentioning the fact that Snape hadn't returned the night before, and was nearly ten hours late.

"Nothing of interest to the Order," said Severus, "except the fact that the Dark Lord is sending diplomats to dragon tamers. Personally, I think it won't do him any good whatsoever."

"And his experiments in blood magic?" asked Albus.

"Potter's blood is no longer of interest to him," said Snape, keeping the answer strictly truthful, though misleading. "He's given up that project."

"Thank Merlin," said Dumbledore. "I was seriously afraid of a leech sent in the mail or some such."

"Well, the danger's past," said Snape sourly. "The boy might just live another year."

"I sincerely hope so," said Albus, "for all our sakes."

"Well, there you are," said Snape, rising. "I'll get back to some research I have."

"Wait," commanded Albus, "just what went on there with Remus? Who was that character?"

Snape instantly feigned a guilty look, which wasn't hard, because he was guilty about hiding what had really happened at the last meeting.

"He was Remus' Alpha," he said. "I couldn't care less."

"Remus would never betray me like that," snapped Dumbledore. "Who was he, and just why did you let him in?"

So that's it, thought Snape: trust the Gryffindor, distrust your Slytherin.

"I had nothing to do with it," replied Severus acidly. "I object to slaving away for this cause, to be continually mocked in this manner. Am I more likely to betray you than that Werewolf?"

"I do trust you," soothed Dumbledore. "I have told you many times before that I simply don't understand your motivation, and as this is a matter which could potentially jeopardize the safety of the entire Order, and even the outcome of the war, I must ask you to give me an explanation."

"Ask Remus for an explanation," snapped Snape. "I tried for hours with him to get one, and you ruined my efforts by arriving. He was just caving in. Your appearance sparked his Gryffindor courage, and he refused to tell me anything."

"Severus," said Dumbledore dangerously, "please, keep your petty dislike of the man to yourself, and explain just what scheme you've dreamed up. How far will your hatred go? You made perfectly sure that the man would arrive, whatever his connection with Remus. You knew how he would react, and how the Order would react when they saw him. It's quite clear that you tried to get him killed. You wanted someone to kill him, thinking he'd betrayed us."

"I can assure you, headmaster," said Snape, stung to the core by such mistrust, "that that was not the case, and I am prepared to repeat that under Veritaserum."

"That's an empty promise and you know it, Severus," countered Dumbledore. "I want you to promise me, now, that you will not attempt such stupidity again. For Merlin's sake, for my sake, for the sake of the future of the world, be a man, and forget the past."

"What is past is prologue," said Snape, "and only a fool forgets that. A wise man learns from history."

"Exactly my point," shouted Dumbledore. "You should have learned a lesson! To set aside differences, and work with others, even if you did not agree with them, or their methods, for the good of the Cause!"

"Just how was I to learn that?" snapped Snape. "I was nearly killed. For no other reason than that four boys found my physical appearance funny, my capabilities annoying, and my House objectionable. What was that to teach me about working with others? Nothing. Except that one can't fight on one's own. One needs allies, others who share your immediate goals, if not your cause."

"You were supposed to realize," thundered Dumbledore, "that the incident would not have happened if you had cooperated with them!"

"Cooperate?" snarled Snape. "Submit, you mean! They attacked the first minute we met, with no provocation whatsoever. For nearly a year, I suffered their attacks and humiliations in private, believing it better to stay out of trouble than to retaliate. I thought they would grow bored and find another target.

"That's not what happened of course. Your oh so lovely Gryffindors, who never did anybody any harm, who were always on the side of light, who were never the cause of a fight, grew to think of me as easy game. They were bored? They hexed me. They were angry? They hexed me. They were in a good mood? They hexed me.

"I repressed my desire to curse them, and you know very well how many curses I knew at the time. I went to my head of house. He told me to be a man and take it, or be a man and retaliate to show my worth. Another month went by, and I realized he'd said nothing, done nothing.

"I spoke to _their_ head of house, and he wouldn't believe me. Said I was taking house rivalry too far, and if he caught me telling more lies about his precious charges, he would personally see to it that I was expelled.

"I spoke to you. You sighed, and gave me that stupid Grandfatherly pout, and spouted your usual platitudes: 'It's our choices that make us who we are,' 'The one who concedes a meaningless quarrel is stronger,' and your favorite, 'That which does not kill us, makes us stronger.' Where else was I to turn? What else was I to do?

"I had gone to my teachers. I had done what all of you told us was the right, the just, and honorable way to deal with things like these. And you turned a blind eye. Admit it, old man, if it had been the other way around, I would have been out of Hogwarts before I could say 'favoritism.'

"I had gone to my housemates, and they had laughed at me. Told me that if the Gryffindors weren't doing such a good job, they'd have stepped in and given me what was coming to them. I was a swot, they said, gave their House a bad name, should be in Ravenclaw, should defend our honor.

"So, I turned to the people that would have been any other child's first choice. I turned to my family. I turned to what my father taught me. And I fought. I fought hard, and I fought well. I feel, even now, that I would have won, if I hadn't been banned by you, personally, to go near them. As though it were my fault I was nearly killed.

"You punished me for being attacked, sir. And they got nothing, not even a detention, because, you said, their housemates would ask questions. What about my housemates? Did you think they were deaf, dumb, and blind? They tortured me for having angered you, even though I could no longer move a muscle without some teacher running to report to you.

"Did you think making sure I couldn't go on Hogsmead weekends, or take part in the dueling club would make me any more eager to cooperate with the Gryffindors? I still wonder, was it because these were student outings, and you didn't trust me without a teacher, or was it merely your sadistic streak coming into play?

"I was angry. They had tried to kill me. They had wanted me dead, and I had done absolutely nothing except defend myself. I don't think we even spoke more than twenty words together in our entire time at Hogwarts. Oh, yes, Potter and Black did a lot of taunting, but that was one sided, and I don't think it counts.

"They had caused me to live in virtual imprisonment for their crimes. I wasn't going to 'learn to love them,' Dumbledore. But, perhaps, one of your platitudes was right. It made me stronger.

"I learned how to be devious from them. I learned how to smooth talk my way out of detentions awarded for breathing in Remus' direction. I learned how to avoid areas they haunted. I learned how to mask any emotion I might have had left.

"And when Voldemort came, I knew that it was better to go along with what he said, because either way, I would be punished more than enough for my choice. Had I sided with you, I would be dead. Side with the Dark Lord? Certain death as well. I would rather have it at the hands of a real enemy, than one that pretended all the time to be on my side, or at the very least open minded.

"Do you have any idea how much I did? Have you _any _idea how nearly I was killed so many times over? I saved so many lives, and still my life isn't worth a Knut to anybody. I'm considered expendable, by you, by the Order, by my students, and even my family.

"Then, you had the gall to _demand _my service. You didn't even bother to ask what I thought, or whether I wanted to do what I was doing. You simply demanded that I lay my life on the line for you, and your precious Gryffindor children. You didn't realize, did you, that all your 'anonymous tips,' came from the same source? You didn't realize, did you, that so many people were evacuated from buildings before they were attacked?

"You were blinded by your bigotry, old man, and don't even try to deny it. Yes, yes, I know. 'Severus, I am an old man, and old men make mistakes.' Damnit! You're supposed to be the wisest among us! You're supposed to learn from those mistakes! Not continue to make the same ones, year after year!

"How many times will I have to prove that I mean no harm? How many times must I prove that I can be trusted? How much blood will I have to spill? How many Crucios will it take?"

Dumbledore stared at Snape in shock. Snape stopped, mid rant, and seemed to come back to himself. He pulled himself together, quickly enough, and became the masked man once more.

"Severus," said Dumbledore sadly, "I... I know it's been hard for you, but... I..."

"You thought it would teach me a lesson," said Snape stiffly, "and so you did nothing to stop it. You didn't stop my father. You didn't stop the Gryffindors. You didn't stop my housemates. You won't stop Voldemort."

"Severus, you know that if there were..."

"What? If the danger became more than merely life threatening you'd let me retire to a comfortable country place?" sneered Snape. "You'd risk lives to get me out? I think not. I know precisely where I stand with you, and the only reason I am still here, is because I have a slim chance of surviving. I don't care about your precious world. I don't care about the Muggles, and the Gryffindors, and the fence sitters. I'm beyond caring.

"I tried to care about them all, before. I tried to be what you wanted, what everyone seemed to want. I was not permitted. They didn't want my help. They still don't. I simply want to survive this war. Any good I do will be a side product, unappreciated, unwanted, unacknowledged."

Dumbledore shut his mouth with a snap, and shook his head sadly.

"Don't give me that pity filled stair," said Snape icily. "You see your failure in me, and that's why you bother to keep me alive. I don't care why you do it. I appreciate the results. I am, at last, a Slytherin. I get what I want."

Albus spread his hands hopelessly. "What do you want, Severus?"

Severus leaned onto the desk, and stared the headmaster into the eye. He let his most predatory grin slide over his face. "You need to ask?"

Albus stared back,resolutely. "Yes."

"I want to survive."


	8. The Potion

**The Potion**

Snape sat tiredly in his office, poring over several books. He had promised Cassandra's Draught to ease the girl's visions, but he had neglected to tell Remus that half of the ingredients were illegal in eighteen countries, and the other half only legal in Tasmania. He needed to alter the Formula to use more common ingredients, or, at least some that Snape could get through his various connections. 

The main ingredient was human blood. Illegal for obvious reasons, and he was sure Remus would have a fit if he knew. He could however, spare another pint or two without anybody noticing, and perhaps transfigure its outward attributes while keeping the Magical properties.

Most of the other ingredients were highly illegal because they were lethal, except in extremely small doses, or because they came from species of magical creatures which were on the brink of extinction.

The Potion worked, to use layman's terms, mostly to block the Magical impulse, much like a Muggle radio signal, from reaching those receptive to it. It did this by masking their blood, through which most magical impulse traveled, with another Magical Signature.

Of course, blood alone could be used, but the body quickly absorbed foreign blood and made it its own. This required that the subject be fed a near constant supply of blood, which, of course, had to be obtained in ways that usually weren't too healthy.

The other ingredients were used to preserve the integrity and Magical Signature of the Donor's blood, so that absorption would not occur. They also prevented Magical Power from the donor's blood from permeating the recipient's Power, infection of any disease the Donor might have, and made sure that compatibility of blood type was not an issue.

The reason most of the ingredients were also poisonous was that they shut down normal functions of the body, such as its usual reaction to either absorb or reject foreign matter. The ingredient that locked the Power into the blood of the donor could successfully incapacitate any Witch or Wizard.

Snape sighed, and continued to pore over book after book. Finally, he found enough loopholes to be able to start. He sighed to himself happily, as he finally began to relax for the first time in several days. True, he had let himself go, and flown off the handle in Dumbledore's office, but although that had been cathartic in the extreme, it had not helped his mood at all.

He began to scribble down frantic notes. Changing an ingredient here, altering a stirring direction there. He finally had an affordable, though still illegal, formula. In his excitement he knocked over a Dark Arts book he'd been looking through the night before on Lethifolds, and it fell open to the floor. A sentence jumped out at him:

_The Pulses of Energy which contain visions of future events, called Static Electricity by Muggles, are the main food source of the Kalgra, who absorb them into their blood at will. The blood of the Kalgra has been banned from trade, on account of its use by non-Seers in a mad attempt to read the future. It is highly volatile, and causes nearly instant death by seizure, unless bound by several Dark Blood Magic spells. It is also used as a narcotic, when bound by Psychidelica Sanguinum, and is addictive in that form._

_Kalgra themselves are categorized as a Class 3a harmless magical creature, and because of their resemblance to Mundane Pigeons, and are not thus hidden from the Muggle World. Many are kept as pets by young children, who enjoy watching the Kalgra draw the Pulses of Energy from the air, usually in the form of fiery blue flames. This activity is not visible to Muggles._

_Those who keep Kalgra are required to report to the proper Authorities, any time the creature bleeds..._

Severus was now kneeling on the floor of his office, bent over the book. A sudden epiphany came to him. If the blood of a Kalgra transferred its power to a non-Seer, it would do the same with a Seer. Not the ability to draw the Pulses, which was inherent in Seers and was what differentiated them from normal Wizards, but the ability to do so at will.

Perhaps, he thought wildly, bound with the right spells, modifying the original potion only to block out Pulses which hadn't been voluntarily called, a Seer would result, who could See at will, and remember each Vision, without the crippling fits.

Several hours later he had a completely new Potion. He wondered briefly what Albus would say, if he knew that after having ranted and raved his heart out, he had gone, not to deal with a guilty conscience, but to both research and create a new illegal Potion.

It was nearly eight in the evening, before he had run every test possible on the formula, without use of human subjects. After several minor modifications, it worked. Better yet, a small dose of about a half a pint, seemed to be permanent, if not counteracted with a Blood Purging.

He grinned to himself, not even realizing that he had missed two meals. He went through his stock. All the legal ingredients in the Formula, he already had on hand. Thankfully, they had to simmer for several hours before anything else was added. Enough time to take a brief trip to Knockturn Alley.

He slipped easily into routine, chopping up ingredients, grinding them into dust in his mortar and beating several, thankfully already quite dead, magical snails into pulp. He set the base mixture to simmer and quietly left his laboratory.

Ealking quickly through the halls, he soon reached a mirror in a third floor corridor, and tapped his wand to the frame.

"Dissendium," he whispered.

The glass shimmered, and disappeared. Severus hopped over the frame, and the glass closed behind him.

Snape walked forward for several yards, before a huge mound of rubble blocked him. "Dispello Glamourem," he said tiredly, and the rubble shrank back to its actual form which, strangely enough, was a Muggle tin can that had once contained tomato sauce.

Severus had created the miraculous Glamour in his seventh year, when he had thankfully escaped the teachers who usually followed his every move, and found the passage out of the school. Naturally, he wanted to make it his passage, to be sure that nobody else would ever be able to use it.

The Glamour was the most elaborate of its kind. Glamours were nearly always merely illusions, which had no solid form. Most Wizards could be fooled by a Glamour of a solid wall, but as soon as somebody tried to lean on one, they would know at once that the wall wasn't really there.

Snape's Glamour was made up of several spells. The first, being of course the simple Glamour, which made the tin can look like a pile of rubble. The second, the Tacticallum, added the illusion of touch, making each brick, each splinter of wood, and even each speck of dust, real to the touch. The third part of the spell anchored it solidly in place, resistant to everything from a simple breeze to explosives. It had taken him a month.

Once passed, he recreated the illusion with "Reinstate Glamourem," and continued on his way. The main passage of the secret corridor actually went to Hogsmead, but Snape had found it branched off leading, by a bizarre twist of fate, directly to Knockturn Alley.

Snape walked easily through Mr. Borgin's brick wall Glamour, opened the door to the cupboard, and stumbled into the shop. Mr. Borgin, thankfully, was alone, shelving something Snape tried very hard not to look at too closely.

"Some day, Master Snape," snapped Mr. Borgin, "you must tell me how you do that. I've put more Anti-Apparition wards on that cupboard than I can count."

"Then, obviously," said Snape, "I don't Apparate."

Mr. Borgin rolled his eyes, and muttered something about Potions Masters being a sneaky lot. Snape ignored him, and pushed his way out of the store. He wondered idly whether Mr. Borgin actually didn't know that the back wall of the cupboard wasn't real, or if he simply didn't want to admit to using the passage, which Snape knew had another branch going into a red light district of Muggle London.

Snape walked quickly and purposefully through the alley. Nobody dared to even think about talking to him. They knew Snape's reputation, and they had absolutely no desire to put it to the test. Snape was glad of the fact. He was sure he wouldn't hold out long in the weakened state the Dark Lord had left him in, and he hoped he was hiding his condition well.

He reached his destination in good time, swished through the doorway, and down the stairs. Most people mocked Potions Masters for working underground in uncomfortable conditions. The truth of the matter was, sadly, that most ingredients and potions were highly sensitive to sunlight, and were therefore best kept underground.

Severus reached the bottom of the stairs and knocked on the door. The person he was going to see was very secretive, and didn't really run a shop. The Owner sold items only to those whom he had tested; to be sure they were "worthy Master's of the Greatest of Arts."

One never actually saw a face, as it was always heavily hooded and masked. Severus speculated, at times, whether it was for protection from the law, enemies, or simply because of a disfiguring accident.

The Owner also didn't have a name that anybody knew. He was always addressed as "sir," or "Master of the Greatest of Arts," and when people spoke of him, they referred to him only as "the Owner."

"Ah," rasped the Owner, shuffling forward, "Severus. I havena seen you in a good long time, I havena."

"I have been occupied, sir," said Snape, "with merely childish potions, and haven't been able to do anything truly worthy of your interest, or your ingredients."

"Of course," said the Owner, "you've gone and found yerself a project again, ah? Something right nasty. Classified by the Ministry as a Bad Idea, Class b4."

"Correct, sir," said Severus. "I need Cassandra's Drought, actually."

"Academic interest?" asked the Owner. "Personal reasons? Highly illegal and devious reasons?"

"Actually, sir," answered Snape, "all three at once."

"Perfect," said the Owner. "I canna getchya everythang, though. There are some things even I canna get."

"I have," said Snape, "made several revisions to the original Formula, sir. Replacing Asphodel with Grillshank for example, and reducing the amount of..."

"I'll make ya a deal," interrupted the Owner. "I have, shall wa say, an interest, in such a thing. You will give ma the formula, and I'll give ya the ingredients. Accept?"

Snape gave a mental grin from ear to ear, but kept his face neutral. He hadn't expected it to be this easy. He had thought he would need to actually dip into his Gringotts vault after his visit.

"I don't know," he haggled, knowing as well as the Owner did that he wasn't serious, "the Formula... could be priceless published..."

"Ah," said the Owner, "but it willna be published, will it na, Master Snape? it's illegal from top to bottom, ain't it na?"

"I suppose so, sir" sighed Snape, "but that is the price I pay for being a Master. I will give up the formula..."

"Ya may take watchya need," said the Owner, waiving a hand dismissively over the workshop. "And ya may send ma the formula tonight. But I'm warnen ya, if ah find one thing gone, that's na on the Formula, or the Formula doesna test, ah'll bring the Wrath of the Wastrel upon ya, though ah does know such behavior doesna come from a Master of the Greatest of Arts."

"Agreed, sir," said Snape, "And if your ingredients prove substandard, though I know such things would never happen in conjunction with a Master of the Arts, such as yourself, sir, I will be forced, against my will, to let it slip, in certain circles, that your quality has declined..."

"Understood, and agreed," said the Owner, "Take a batch of watchya need. Enough for a cauldron full, ya may have. How many doses would tha' make?"

"About," calculated Snape, "sixteen, I should expect. But I rather think I've found a permanent solution to the problem."

"Och," chided the Owner, "ya didna tell ma that. That's o' no use ta anyone. Those with the gift, they wanna See, even if not always."

"Ah, sir," said Snape, "that's where you're wrong. If what I've researched works, and I am quite sure it will, it will allow the Cassandra to access the world of the future at will, that is, when the Magical Pulses are available to her."

"Ya've found that?" said the Owner, gleefully, "ya've found somethin' tha' works?"

Snape nodded.

"Ah've known tha too long, Snape," said the Owner, solemnly, "Ta think tha could make a mistake in the Greatest of Arts. If ya says ya's gotta, and ya says that' works, than 'tworks."

Snape blinked, at what, from this man, was the most elaborate praise imaginable.

"Tha can have whatevra tha wants," said the Owner, seemingly too happy for words. "Whatvra tha sees in tha shop that tha could need, tha can take't. If tha takes tha whole shop, ah'll still owe thee Master Snape."

Snape stared. Never had he seen the Owner show any emotion whatsoever. Now, however, the Owner was practically skipping, his raspy voice quivering with excitement.

"I have a copy with me," said Snape, "here."

The Owner took it, and scurried off, repeating, while leaving, "Anything tha needs, tha' ah have... anything at all..."

Snape stared at endless shelves of ingredients, unable to believe his luck. Had he known the Owner had such an obsession with the Draught of Cassandra, he would have done research into it years ago. Still, he admitted that the use of Kalgra blood would not have occurred to him without the happy accident of the book. Ironically, he realized, Albus had given it to him for Christmas, unwittingly aiding and abetting a rash of illegality.

Pulling himself together, Snape began methodically going through what was available to him. He got first every ingredient necessary for the formula, including the Kalgra blood. He supposed its popularity as a narcotic kept it in stock. He smiled wryly when he saw, "collected humanely," scrawled on the bottle.

He collected ingredients that were rare and expensive. Things for which he had so often substituted less potent ingredients. Things he had previously only dreamed of using. He placed each item carefully in the pocket of his robes, which was Charmed to shrink everything to fit. Severus wrote down a careful list of every item he had taken, and left it for the Owner, as he knew the Owner valued honesty above all else in a quality for a Master of the Greatest Arts.

Feeling better than he had in months, Severus practically ran back to Borgin and Burkes. "Good evening, Mr. Borgin," he called, refraining from grinning at the shocked look the man gave him, before he stepped into the cupboard.

Now that he was out of sight of any prying eyes, Severus actually did run. He sprinted down the corridor, skidding round the corners until he came to his Glamour, which he regretted for the first time in his life.

He Dispelled it and Reinstated it never breaking his stride. "Dissendium!" he cried, reaching the mirror and tumbling through, landing in the hallway. Fortunately, nobody accept a beetle in the still life on the wall was there to see him leave the passage.

Now that he was back in the castle Severus took a deep breath, and walked down to his quarters, at his usual pace, so that nobody, not even the portraits, would notice anything amiss.

When he reached his quarters at last he slammed the door behind him, and added extra wards to the ones he usually had in place. He checked his potion, and the time. Realizing he'd made it back in less than half an hour, and the potions still had nearly five to simmer, he wondered what had possessed him to sprint down that passage. Clutching his side, he finally realized: he was happy.


	9. The Potter Boy

**The Potter Boy**

After he had got himself under control, Snape methodically unpacked his treasures. He had among them Ashwinder eggs, for which he had always substituted Dragon eggshells, Bicorn blood, which was illegal because of its addictive properties when used as a mind restorative potion, or an energy booster, and even a jar of Nundu's breath, which he bought mainly so that nobody else would get hold of it.

He would ask Dumbledore to hide the jar someplace, letting him believe Snape had stolen it from the Death Eaters. After all, nobody was about to go up to the Dark Lord himself, and say, "Lost any Nundu's breath, lately?"

He then remembered, belatedly, that he hadn't actually eaten anything since breakfast at Lupin's. He sighed to himself, and thought, ruefully, that a day after losing several liters of blood, was not exactly the best time to forget about meals.

Snape left, trying hard not to wobble in his dizziness, and set off for the kitchens. To his annoyance, Potter was there, absentmindedly eating scones while lost in a large text, his glasses pushed up to his forehead.

"Potter," he said tiredly, "thirty points from Gryffindor for..."

Harry looked up, so startled and disoriented, that Snape didn't finish his sentence. Harry looked about wildly for a moment, before he calmed down, replaced his glasses, apparently remembering where he was.

"Professor," he said, "sir, it isn't after hours yet, is it?"

"It's nine o'clock, barely," admitted Professor Snape. "You've half an hour yet."

"The Kitchen's aren't out of bounds, sir," said Harry carefully. "I asked Filch."

Snape sighed, and wondered why he'd bothered. Perhaps there was hope for the situation yet. There had to be a reason for Potter to be hiding his work in the Kitchens, which most students didn't know how to get to. "What are you reading?" he asked silkily, sliding forward. "Something restricted, perhaps?"

Harry sighed, and handed him the book. "Not that I know of," he said. "I picked it up in Knockturn Alley, so for all I know it might be."

"You were in Knockturn Alley," said Snape intrigued. "You do know that is ... strictly forbidden to students?"

"It wasn't during the school year," Harry defended himself. "And I couldn't find a book on Legilimensy anywhere in Diagon Alley. Plenty on Occlumency, of course, which is Defense, but nothing..."

Snape's eyes widened, as he stared at the book in his hands. It was a very good text, explaining every intricacy of the process. It was therefore also very illegal, and hard to get for anybody. Snape had been looking for it for years.

"Mr. Potter," he said silkily, "first of all, minors are not allowed in Knockturn Alley, unless accompanied by a Guardian, and I seriously doubt that your Muggle relations accompanied you. Second, this book is illegal, not simply for students, but for anybody to own, sell, or purchase. The penalty is a fine of more money than most people dream about, or several years in Azkaban. Thirdly, considering all the lectures you received, you should have known better than to enter Knockturn Alley alone, considering the number of people there who want to kill you. Finally, I fail to see why you bothered to find this at all. Your concern is Occlumensy. Believe me, Potter, the Dark Lord's mind is not a thing I would recommend playing with."

"First off, I was with Hagrid, who even though he isn't my Guardian, is definitely a big enough deterrent. Second, I told Dumbledore I was going. Third, I knew the book was illegal, and was willing to take the chance. Finally, I didn't want to learn it. I wanted to understand it."

"You told Dumbledore you were going to Knockturn Alley?" asked Snape. "I doubt, seriously, Potter, that you are telling the truth."

Potter looked a bit sheepish. "I... didn't exactly tell him I was going to Knockturn Alley," he admitted, "I told him I was going with Hagrid to pick up supplies. I may have forgotten to mention that the supplies were Flesh-Eating Slug Repellent."

Snape kept his face neutral, and pressed for more information. "You wanted to understand it," he repeated. "Explain this, Mr. Potter."

Potter sighed. "I'm afraid I'm not a great Wizard," he said quietly. "I think like a Muggle half the time. I have to know what I'm fighting against, to defend against it. Every time I see an unknown Hex or Spell coming at me, I dodge instead of trying to block it. If I haven't practiced a Counter Hex, I ... dive. It's a reflex. Probably saved my life a few times, too, since in fourth year I had no idea how to block anything, much less the Cruciatus.

"And... with Occlumensy, it's the same thing. I try to dodge with my mind, but my mind can't hide from the Spell, you see. So my entire instinct is useless. You've told me countless times the technique, Professor, about building mental walls, and all, and I have practiced, and it's even worked a few times. But... the attack is never the same. It always assaults me differently, and so every time, I dodge. I thought if I fully understood Legilimency, and how it was used, I would know how to defend against it better, know what to expect, stop trying to run."

Snape stared at Potter, trying to process the fact that Potter apparently didn't think of himself as a Wizard, let alone a great one.

"It's like fighting against someone with an invisible sword," Potter went on. "I can't see how long it is, so I can't use a shield, or parry. I have to dodge. Or... like trying to make an antidote I don't know the poison recipe for.

"And now... well. You've every right to tell Dumbledore, and get me expelled. I did break Wizarding law, and I did go against the rules you set up for me, and even against a promise I gave him, that no matter what you told me, I wasn't to learn anything about Legilimency."

Potter stared at his hands and hunched, as though expecting a blow to fall.

"The Headmaster forbade you to learn anything about Legilimency?" Snape asked carefully.

Potter looked up and nodded. "He said if you began to lecture about it, I should fake a vision in order to stop you, and tell him immediately."

"That man wouldn't trust me with the life of a Flobberworm," seethed Snape. "He had my promise about it. What more did he want?"

"I'm sorry," said Potter, "and I wouldn't have. Faked the vision I mean. I would have listened, I'm afraid. I wanted to know..."

"What a pity that your thirst for knowledge only surfaces in forbidden subjects," mused Snape, looking curiously at the anxious boy before him, "whatever am I going to do with you?"

"Expel me, turn me over to the Ministry," he said morosely. "There isn't much else left."

Suddenly, Snape realized there was more to the scene than he had previously though. "Where are the house elves, Mr. Potter?"

Potter looked guilty. "They've gone to clean up a nasty spill near Myrtles bathroom," he said. "She threw a fit."

Snape nodded, and scanned the room once more. Things had apparently been left in a hurry.

"Mr. Potter," he said finally, "we have an Occlumency lesson in twenty minutes. Please be down at my laboratory on time. Bring your books."

Potter looked up at him in confusion, and then followed his gaze towards a very interested portrait of Howard Pyle.

"Yes, sir," he said, taking his books back and hurrying off. "I'll be there."

Snape walked up to the portrait, and raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, sir," said the man, "I've got it. Potter arrived in the kitchen, and ate, hurried off to his lesson. Professor Snape is still in his office, boiling mush."

"It's not 'mush,'" said Snape, as the man began to leave his frame, "but no matter. I thank you."

Satisfied that Dumbledore's most annoying, and most unreliable spy was silenced, Snape turned his attention back to the kitchens. He picked up a basket of rolls, some butter, and tea and headed down to deal with Potter.

Snape reached his quarters, and found Potter waiting outside.

"Idiot boy," snapped Severus, "You shouldn't have waited about outside, people could have seen you."

Potter sighed and remarked, "They all know I'm taking remedial potions."

Snape grimaced, and handed Potter the tray, so that he could take down the wards. Potter raised an eyebrow at the added security, but said nothing. Snape opened the door, and beckoned Potter to follow him in.

Potter walked into the lab, and set the tray down on one of the side tables, along with the potions book. Snape checked the progress of the potion, carefully. He made sure the consistency and color matched what he had predicted in his notes, and that the cauldron was evenly heated, at the right temperature.

Satisfied, he turned back to Potter, who was understandably nervous. Severus hadn't actually needed to check on the potion, and probably wouldn't have for another hour, but he had needed a few minutes to think, and, of course he had needed time for Potter to stew.

He seated himself in his favorite lab chair, and pulled up the table.

"Sit down, Potter," said Snape, "and tell me again. What exactly did Dumbledore tell you?"

Harry blinked in surprise. He had expected sheer torture from Snape about having broken so many rules. He hadn't expected to be asked what Dumbledore had said.

"About going to Knockturn Alley?" he asked, in confusion, watching Snape pour himself tea, "or about the lessons?"

"No, Potter," said Snape tiredly, adding sugar, "about the blue polar bear that was rampaging in Hogsmead."

Harry blinked.

Snape relaxed, slightly. "I meant the lessons. I am a Slytherin, Potter, I care less about your methods, and more about your motives and results. So far, you have been devious, and successful. I want to know why."

"Dumbledore said," Harry started, "that I shouldn't learn Legilimency, because it's a Dark Art. He said knowledge of the Dark leaves a ... mark on your soul. That it taints you. I said I couldn't defend against an unknown. That ignorance was the greatest weakness, that knowledge was power. I don't think... I don't think knowing something can be evil. I told him that we learn Poisons in Potions Class, while never using them. One can't make an Antidote unless one knows the Poison."

Snape nodded, buttering his roll, "And what did the Headmaster say to that?"

"He said Potions weren't a Dark Art and that it wasn't the same," said Potter morosely, "but I don't really understand anything anymore. He expects me to kill Voldemort. Everybody expects me to kill Voldemort. The only way I can think of to do that would be Avada Kedavra itself, or a physical attack. However, I can't learn Avada Kedavra because it's Dark. I can't even STUDY Avada Kedavra and its effects to try and find out what exactly blocked it when I was a baby."

"For once, Potter," said Snape silkily, "I think we agree."

Harry blinked. "Dumbledore may seem omniscient to some," Snape said, "omnipotent to others. He's the one everybody asks what to do. Remember, Potter, that nobody is perfect. You can't fight well unless you acknowledge your flaws, which, I think, I have finally managed to knock into your head this year.

"Dumbledore, too, is flawed. He has a distinct aversion to the Dark, and blinds himself to any good that may come of it. He is also not entirely wrong. He does have a reason for his belief that knowledge corrupts. When he had to take on Grindenwald, as you would know if you bothered with History of Magic, he nearly went Dark himself. He noticed the pull it had on him, and cut himself off from its influence completely.

"I'm afraid he hasn't noticed your little problem, Potter. How, after all, to fulfil your destiny without use of the Dark Arts? How to defend against them? How to prepare yourself? On the defensive, is, perhaps, the more honorable place to be. But defense is sometimes not enough. You need a balance of Offensive and Defensive Magic to survive in a battle, or a duel.

"It's like chess, Potter. You can't win by sulking in the corner of the board, making sure no pieces come near yours, and you can't win by recklessly attacking other pieces, while leaving your king alone and unguarded. Balance, Mr. Potter, is golden."

"That makes a good deal of sense, Professor," said Harry seriously, "I can believe that. I need to know these things, or I won't survive. And, as much as I hate sounding melodramatic, I can't afford to fail. It's not just my life, it's the fact that if I don't kill Voldemort, the chances are extremely high that he'll have a second rise to power, and that nobody would be able to stop him. I wouldn't wish that world on anybody."

"I am going to make you an offer," said Severus, slipping into full Slytherin barter mode, "which you have no choice but to accept. I will teach you what you need to know. You will tell no one. In return... you will help me in the lab."

Harry blinked. "I accept, of course," he said, "since I don't have a choice. But I would like to know why you are doing this."

"Why?" Severus asked. "This school year I've noticed a difference in you. You have finally come to terms with your Slytherin side. You consider options before you decide, you have managed to deceive, while nearly always telling the absolute truth. I think, as a matter of fact, that you've grown up."

Harry sighed. "It was Sirius that did it," he said quietly. "When he died it shocked me. I had this ridiculous idea that nothing could go wrong. That death only happened to the other side. That... well, it showed me that I am responsible for my actions. I wanted or needed to make sure that nothing like that would happen while I could prevent it. To anybody. And to do that I needed to fight. To fight I needed a weapon. The only weapon I have is knowledge. A wand alone won't do me any good against the Dark Lord. I need to know how to use it. And I need to know how he can use his against me. I needed to learn, and so I began to think.

"I thought a lot over the summer. I ran that day over and over again in my head, analyzing what I had done, and realizing what I had done wrong. I was afraid to come to you again to apologize for looking into your Pensive, and too lazy to practice what you had taught me. I failed to block the vision. I went off on my own to try to fix anything and did not go to you for help, even though you would know best whether it was a vision or not. I failed to use my assets. I didn't think of the possibility of deception, because I was blinded by my belief in the vision. I allowed emotion to cloud my judgment. I failed to find out what was going on before moving in. Finally, I failed to prevent others from falling in with me: I let the others go with me, even though I knew they could be hurt. I failed to protect them. I felt the possibility of their help worth more than the possible risk. I had made the mistake of believing I had the authority to make such a decision for them.

"And so I have made it my goal to make sure I avoid these mistakes. I will learn. I will study. I will use my head. I will look before I leap."

Snape thought about what Harry had said for a moment.

"I told Dumbledore," he said at last. "I warned him that if he didn't tell you the risks, and give you an idea of what you were up against, that you would do something stupid. He insisted, however, in protecting your innocence..."

Harry took a deep breath. "If I stay any longer, I will be out after curfew."

"You never cared for that rule before," Snape pointed out, "and you are here on my authorization."

"It's true," said Harry, "I didn't. And I wouldn't normally care too much, but for the fact that if I break it now, I have a very large chance of getting caught at it."

"You may take the book with you," said Snape. "Study it, learn from it, and for Merlin's sake keep it out of sight. You first lesson will be tomorrow, in that handy period between Lunch and your next class."

"Yes, sir," said Harry, rising. "I will see you then."

He walked to the door, and opened it. Halfway out, he remembered something and turned back.

"Professor Snape?" he asked cautiously, "what about the points you took in the Kitchens?"

"Consider them taken," said Snape silkily, "for possession of an illegal book, illegal entry into Knockturn Alley, illicit knowledge ... and for being out of bed after hours."

Harry actually smiled. "Thank you sir," he said. "Good night."

Snape waited until Harry was well gone before allowing himself to break into a grin. This was going to be a wonderful year. He had more Research possibilities than ever before, he was going to trick Dumbledore and the entire Order, he was going to illegally teach Potter the Dark Arts, _and _he had the Werewolf in his debt. There was only a minor difficulty in the shape of a Dark Lord, who was too much of a madman to appreciate the setup.


	10. Remus' Dilemma

**Remus' Dilemma**

Meanwhile, Remus Lupin was faced by a most peculiar dilemma. How to ask his daughter why she was about six years younger than she ought to be. Strictly speaking, he had no idea how she had developed after she had been born. Maybe she had only grown once a month, in accordance with her birth, but that would have left her several years younger than she was now. 

He had been so shocked and amazed that she was actually alive, that it hadn't occurred to him how old she was. It was only when he'd received a letter from Harry, and thought that for sixteen, the boy was remarkably mature, that he suddenly realized that his daughter ought to be older than Harry was. She had, after all, been born just two years before he had been. She should be eighteen.

Remus stared at the girl across the table. Several things about her bothered him in the extreme. To begin with, she had never smiled. That could be put down to homesickness, except for the odd fact that she did not appear to be upset at all. She seemed... icy, cold, calm. She never betrayed any emotion, except interest.

Far too calm, far to calculating to be twelve. In fact, he was sure she knew a great deal more than she was letting on, acting the innocent twelve year old with enviable ease. He remembered with a jolt that his Wards had not given him an age reading for her. 

Another thing that worried him was the fact that her right arm was scarred excessively. The scars were all parallel, straight lines, made with surgical precision. There was no way they could have been accidental. He had seen them only once, when she had rolled up her sleeves to whip some batter, and he had been too shocked to ask her about them.

They could not have been self-inflicted, considering the angle, unless she were both left-handed and a contortionist. However, there was no conceivable reason for anybody else to inflict such wounds.

Remus did what he usually did when faced with a baffling problem; he went to the library. He looked for anything on delayed aging, on suppressed emotions, and even blood magic. He found... nothing.

He ran a hand through his hair, and watched, as she read on the other side of the room. Another thing that bothered him: she knew far too much about Magic, for somebody who had supposedly been taught none. She was reading a book on Animal Transfiguration, and seemed to understand it quite well.

Remus sighed again.

"Is something wrong?" she asked, looking up.

"No," he said, "I was just... confused, a bit."

"About what?"

He thought a bit about how to get an answer without arousing her suspicions. "I can't remember your birth date," he said at last, "Whether it was in May, or June."

"June 20th, 1984," she rattled off. "Wednesday, Half Moon, at about midnight."

Remus blinked. She had been born the 12th of June, 1978, on a full moon. Something was seriously wrong. Ralf had done something, something terrible. Perhaps he hadn't given up his 'hobby,' as he'd said.

He was saved from having to explain his question, by the warning ring of his Wards. He got to his feet. "Someone came in," he said. "I wonder who... at this hour..."

"It's only eleven," she said, in that unruffled way of hers. "Many people stay up much later."

"Not many people know where to find me," said Remus. "Who could possibly..."

Just then the smoke of the wards formed before him:

"Recognized: The Enigma.

Armed: Wand.

Emotion: Elated.

Remus blinked. Elated? Snape? He dispelled the smoke, and ran to the door. Snape nearly knocked Remus over as he ran into the room. His hair was a mess, practically plastered to his head. His eyes were bloodshot, and he looked like he could use several hours of sleep.

"I have it," he said triumphantly, shaking a bottle at Remus."It's finished."

"Full moon isn't for another week," reminded Remus confusedly, staring in shock at the man before him. "Are you quite all right?"

"I am more than all right, Lupin," returned Snape. "Everything is perfect. I've finished the greatest Potion of my career. It's a masterpiece."

"Wonderful," said Remus dryly, "why don't you add it to your resume, so that Dumbledore can reject your bid for the Defense Against Dark Art's position for even stupider reasons than usual?"

"Dumbledore wouldn't be interested," scoffed Snape, "in this. It's the Potion for Philomena. For the visions."

Hearing her name, Philomena drifted into the room, and looked curiously at Snape. "It's a bit late for a lesson," she said.

"A lesson?" asked Snape, in confusion, "what lesson?"

"You said you would teach me," she clarified. "Potions."

"Ah, yes," said Snape, "that. Later. Perhaps... next week. Yes, next week, I will have time. I've brought you this."

Snape took out a vial from his pocket, filled with a shimmering scarlet liquid the consistency of water.

"Cassandra's draught," he explained. "It will prevent the Visions."

Remus took the vial in his hand and stared suspiciously at Snape. "I've heard of that," he said. "Half the ingredients are illegal."

"Legality is relative," said Philomena. "Uncle Ralf said so."

Snape ignored Philomena, and concentrated on Remus. "I have modified the Potion considerably. It contains nearly none of the original ingredients. It will both prevent the Visions from assailing her unprepared, and allow her to access them if she wishes, without a seizure."

"I won't have her drink anything with your blood in it, Snape," said Remus. "Blood Magic is about as Dark as Magic goes."

"There isn't any of my blood in the Potion," said Snape. "I told you I'd modifiedit."

"No blood?" asked Remus, staring askance at the bottle. "You swear?"

"I swear," said Snape tiredly. "My word as a Wizard. There is none of my blood in that bottle."

Remus sighed. "I'm sorry for snapping," he said at last. "I've a lot on my mind. I shouldn't have doubted you like that."

"Perfectly all right," said Snape. "Hhere, Ms. Lupin, drink this down. It may taste a bit off, but it'll do you a world of good."

The girl took the potion, and drank it down without a world of protest. She staggered, slightly.

"You will feel tiredness for a several hours as the potion takes effect," explained Snape belatedly. "Though since its nearly bedtime anyhow, I don't think it makes a difference."

"Good night, Snape," she said. "Sleep well, Remus."

"Good night," said Remus.

"If you feel any tightness in the chest, you are to say so immediately," said Snape.

Philomena nodded, and disappeared up the stairs.

"How often will she need a dose?" asked Remus worriedly.

"Never," said Snape. "It's quite permanent."

"Impossible," said Remus, "or Seers would be a good deal more respected than they are. A permanent solution is impossible, according to Nicholas Flammel."

"Nicholas Flammel," said Snape, "was not a Potion Master. And the Potion is unknown because I developed it this afternoon."

"You tested it, I hope?"

"Of course," said Snape. "I am, contrary to popular belief, neither sadistic, nor careless. I tested it with every possible test, including the Personalis."

"You could make a fortune on it," said Remus quietly, "even if demand were half as low as it is."

"Unfortunately, not possible," said Snape silkily, "since the ingredients make it highly illegal."

"What?" exploded Remus, "but you just said that-"

"That it had hardly any of the original ingredients," Snape finished, "and that it did not contain my blood. Both statements were completely true."

"What's in it?" demanded Remus. "What have you given her?"

"Relax, Lupin," said Snape, "they're only as illegal as they are because some of them can be very addictive when used improperly, narcotic when spelled in certain ways, or poisonous in too large doses."

"How _dare _you," snarled Remus. "How..."

"How dare I cure her?" asked Snape. "I don't know. I supposed, at the time, I was doing her some good. Its not traceable, has no side effects, except the initial tiredness, and is permanent, unless you were to do a Purgatis Sanguini."

"You said there wasn't any blood," said Remus angrily. "You gave your word."

"Not mine, Lupin," said Snape, getting annoyed in turn, "Kalgra. I wouldn't have given it to her if it weren't safe. I was prepared to make Cassandra's draught, using your blood if necessary, when I happened to find an alternate solution."

"A Purgatis Sanguini," breathed Remus, "would..."

"Be extremely dangerous," finished Snape, "and could possibly kill her. So I suggest you let it be, unless she has an adverse reaction, which is extremely unlikely."

"There's something you aren't telling me," said Remus, "what is it?"

"Speaking of which," said Snape, "there's plenty you aren't telling me. For instance, when Philomena was really born. Who she really is. Surely you didn't think I am entirely ignorant? If she were born when you say she was, she would be eighteen. Eighteen, Lupin, not twelve. What was so important about hiding the fact that her birth was six years later? Or was it just to garner sympathy, with your story about being twelve and traumatized?"

"I don't know, Snape," sighed Remus, sinking into a chair. "I really don't know. She was born when I said she was. And she shouldn't be twelve. I... I'm not sure what to think. Maybe Ralf had some spell put on her, to delay her aging. Perhaps my daughter really is dead, and Ralf just wants me to hide this girl for some other reason. I don't know what to think, Severus, truly I don't."

"You have a strange and interesting family life, Lupin," sighed Snape, seating himself as well.. "Who would have thought it?"

"Do you know of any spell which would do that?" asked Remus. "And... and I noticed some scars on her arm. I... what do you know about Blood Magic? I haven't been able to find a book..."

"That would be because the books you were looking at were entirely legal," answered Snap. "And yes, I know a good deal about Blood Magic. If she has scars from that, then I can see why. The blood of someone with Visions, can be drunk by someone without the gift, which triggers a seizure, a Vision, and finally, death."

"But," said Remus in confusion, "if it's deadly, why use it? Why not just ask a Seer or a Diviner?"

"Normally," said Snape, "one doesn't take such things oneself."

Remus blanched. "Oh dear Merlin," he said, "the poor girl."

"She wouldn't know," said Snape dismissively. "I'd be more worried about her age anomaly. I could do a simple test, to see whether she really is related to you. I'd just need an item she's touched recently, a hair of yours, and some Fluxweed."

"I would give anything right now to be sure," said Remus, handing Snape the book Philomena had been reading and a strand of his hair. "I don't really know what to do anymore."

Remus disappeared down to his lab, and returned in a moment with the desired powder. Snape laid the hair over the book, and sprinkled both with Fluxweed. "Revelatio Maternitas," said Snape, tapping the book with his wand.

The Fluxweed flared up in blue flames, which flew into the air, and formed the words: Remus John Lupin.

"No doubt about it, then," said Snape. "Either she was born six years later than your story, or she's been in some state of suspended animation, perhaps time travel, or even a Deaging Draught."

"Snape, I..."

"What, Lupin," snapped Snape. "Thank you? Sorry? This time I'll explain? I am now going to murder you for saving my daughter?"

"You said," said Remus slowly, "that a Seer's blood could be useful. Since it's fatal, I'm assuming it isn't legal."

"Damn right it isn't," said Snape. "Worth thousands of Galleons on the Black Market, though. You can get anything in Knockturn Alley if you have the cash."

"That's it," said Remus, his eyes widening in realization. "Ralf! He made his money selling illegal goods. He had a shop on Knockturn Alley. 'Blood and Bones,' it was called. He said it was his 'hobby.' He told me he'd given it up, but... if he found out she had visions... and was a little hard up... If he wasn't my Alpha I'd kill him."

"Blood and Bones?" asked Snape musingly. "Yes, it's still in business. Passed it yesterday, actually. They deal mostly for Necromancers, and Blood Mages, sometimes even Vampires. I've never gone there."

"Never?" asked Remus.

"Of course not," said Snape. "Their prices were ridiculous."

Remus raised his eyebrows in shock, but said nothing. Trust Snape to talk about a completely illegal shop, and say, merely, that their prices were too steep for him.

"That explains a lot, though," said Snape, "about what happened to Philomena. He must have kept her in suspended animation for several years."

"Why?" asked Remus perplexed. "I don't understand."

"A Cassandra, or Seer," explained Snape, "typically has her first Vision at eleven, or twelve. Seers are very common at this age, but most lose the Gift in a few years. Naturally, Ralf would want her to keep her powers, because the blood loses all potency if the Gift terminates. Most lose the Gift because their mind retreats to insanity to block the Visions."

"Merlin," said Remus, "The poor girl. I should have..."

"You should have what?" asked Snape. "You didn't know what was going on. You couldn't have stopped it. Stop being a Gryffindor, and accept the fact that it happened and it's over. She won't remember a thing, anyway. People in suspended animation live, but their minds are not active, so they cannot remember, and their bodies do not age or change in any way. I suspect they would bleed her at regular intervals, and give her a typical first aid spell for blood loss. Since she'd be comatose, they'd have her fed Magically. She probably simply remembers going, or being put to sleep, and waking up extremely tired. She thinks she is still twelve, and that some date about six years ago is a few weeks ago."

"She told me she was born in 1984," protested Remus. "She knows what the year is."

"Naturally," said Snape."They'd have modified her memory to prevent detection. I don't know how Ralf expected it to escape your notice. I think it's best you don't tell her, as yet. She will have to know, later, when she is old enough, but... right now, she's going through enough confusion without adding guilt to the mix."

"Yes, I suppose you're right," said Remus. "I... thank you. For everything."

"No trouble, Lupin," smirked Snape, fingering the clasp at his throat. "I will receive ample payment."


	11. Seers, Professors and Death Eaters

**Seers, Professors, and Death**** Eaters**

The next morning, she stumbled down the stairs at noon. Remus looked up from his tea, and smiled at her. "Morning, sleepy head," he called.

She scowled at him, and yawned loudly. "That stuff tasted foul," she groused.

"Don't blame me, blame Snape," said Remus. "Blaming Snape is fun."

She blinked, and looked blearily about the room. "I see... blue," she said finally. "There are blue flames. All over."

Remus stared at her. "Sit down," he soothed. "You're seeing things. I don't think you're quite awake yet. I'll Floo Snape and ask him about it."

She sat down next to him. "They are there," she insisted. "They're coming from you."

Remus brushed off his sleeves. "Nothing there."

He was worried. Snape had said side effects weren't likely, but then again Philomena wasn't exactly the most normal child.

"Yes, there is," she said, going to him and grabbing at the air about an inch from his sleeve. "You see? I caught it!"

Remus started as her hand brushed his arm. He heard a snap! and saw a very real spark leap to her finger. She froze for a moment, eyes wide in shock, and then crouched to the floor, her hands covering her head. Instantly, he knelt beside her, and tried to help her up. To his horror, she was shaking uncontrollably.

"Philomena," he asked anxiously, "what's wrong?"

She shuddered violently once more, and grabbed his arm to pull herself back up.

"I... I..." she stuttered, "saw... saw... you... darkness."

"A vision?" he asked, while helping her to the sofa. "The flames must be the Energy Pulses, then. Snape said you'd be able to reach out to them. What did you See?"

She wrapped her arms around herself. "It was... dark. In a very torn down house. And you were... bleeding on the floor. Ralf was there. He was angry... shouting..."

Remus swallowed, and sat down beside her. "What was he shouting?"

"'Turn her back,'" she said. "Over and over again. 'Turn her back'."

Remus wrinkled his brow and tried to imagine the scene in his head. The building was most probably the Shrieking Shack although he couldn't think of a reason for him to go back to it. As for Ralf, Remus didn't really want to think about him.

She drew a shaky breath. "It's all right," she said. "It probably won't happen. They don't always. Besides... Uncle Ralf isn't coming back. He said so."

He sighed. "Philomena," he said, "I... I don't think I told you, but ... I never meant to leave you with him. I ... I thought you were dead, all this time..."

She didn't say anything but shivered, hugging herself.

"I swear to you, Philomena. I will do everything I can to make your future as better than your past has been."

Her reaction astonished Remus. She started to cry. He shifted uncomfortably, not knowing quite what to do. After all, she hadn't ever come out of her prim and proper persona before now. She fell back against the sofa cushions, shivering with mostly silent sobs.

Suddenly, the Wolf showed a side of herself she hadn't before, a fierce protective urge. Remus was suddenly filled with a rage against everything that had hurt his child. He gathered her into his arms and stroked her hair. She clutched reflexively at his shoulder, and sobbed into his chest.

He rocked slightly as the Wolf reared up inside him, telling him he had to make her stop crying. He had to comfort her somehow. His senses were overwhelmed with the smell of her distress, and the frantic urge to quell it.

"It's all right, my heart," he whispered into her hair, slipping easily into the speech patterns of the Clan, although he'd never spoken on such a level with other werewolves besides Ralf. "Love, love, I'll always tread the trails with ye."

He wasn't sure if she understood what he was trying to tell her; that he'd always be with her, and would always protect her, but somehow he knew it didn't matter what he said at that point, as long he eased her distress.

Her sobs stopped, but she continued to clutch his shoulder. Caught in a bubble of protective instinct, Remus continued to rock back and forth, stroking her hair. Gradually, she fell asleep. He didn't dare move for fear of waking her, and so he held continued to hold her.

XXX

Snape waited impatiently in the empty classroom Dumbledore had given him for an Occlumency classroom. Howard Pyle waved cheekily at him from the frame over the fireplace. Snape raised an eyebrow at him.

"It's all right, professor," assured the portrait. "He doesn't suspect a thing. I assume today's meeting will simply be a continuation of yesterday's... lesson? Some shouting, fainting, cursing, absolutely no mention of Legilimency?"

Snape nodded, curtly. "Of course. What else? After all, I'm a predictable, trustworthy, honorable Slytherin."

"Right, then," said Pyle cheerily. "In that case, I won't bother watching. I'll go back to the kitchens as that portrait's got my drawing supplies in it."

"Have fun," Snape called after him as the figure disappeared from the frame.

Snape looked over the room once more. It had been cleared out except for a large bookshelf, because broken furniture had so frequently been a result of their lessons. The bookshelf remained only because it was bolted to the wall, and the Bloody Baron liked to sulk on the top shelf.

Snape had spent a good deal of the early morning hours before breakfast visiting several book collectors who happened to owe him favors. He had returned with a satisfactory collection of highly illegal books he was sure suited his purpose.

Potter knocked, as he always did, and slipped in without waiting for a reply. He was out of breath and fell back against the door as soon as he'd shut it. "Sorry," he panted. "I ran all the way from the Great Hall."

Snape sneered at him. "Of course, the great Quidditch star can catch the Snitch easily as bat an eye, but can't make it from the Great Hall to here in under ten minutes."

Potter shut his eyes and muttered something under his breath. He opened them again to stare Snape in the eye.

"Professor Snape," he said, having counted to ten as Hermione had suggested, "please. We only have about twenty minutes before the next class. I can count on being as late as I want with Hagrid, but I'm sure your students would take all too well to being left in your classroom without you for any period of time."

Snape nodded curtly, biting back a scalding reply about Harry bloody Potter going off scot-free, no matter which rules he broke.

"Neither of us has time," he said, "for an actual lesson. But I have some books here. I would like you to read them before our next official Occlumency session, which is next week."

Severus handed Potter the books one by one. "Avada Kedavra- Charm or Curse? An Analysis," by Gaspard Shingleton. "Wilbert Slinkhard's Ultimate Guide to Not Dying." "How to Live without a Wand," by Blenheim Stalk. "How Dark is Dark?" by Quentin Trimble. "The Other Side of Arithmancy," by Adalbert Waffling.

"Yes sir," was all Harry said, as he put each book carefully into his bag.

"It goes without saying," continued Snape, "that under no circumstances is anybody to know you have these, nor are you to speak of what you learn. For your own good, Potter, I suggest you finish your own book on Legilimency, and bring that with you next week. I can dispose of it easier than you can."

Harry nodded, once. "Anything else, sir?"

"I'd thank you not to doodle in the margins," Snape added, "or mark the books in any way. Some books of the type are... sensitive to mistreatment, and can be very vindictive. I'd hate to have to explain your untimely demise to Albus, Poppy, _and_ the Dark Lord."

"Yes sir," said Harry, nodding. "I'll see you next week, then."

He turned and disappeared through the door. Snape frowned, and took his favorite secret passage out of the room to his classroom. "One more week," he thought. "One more week and I can get my hands on that book..."

XXX

In Voldemort's underground city, two Wizards were working in a darkened room. Rabastan Lestrange and Antonin Dolohov weren't particularly happy with the job they had been given but they knew it was not a good idea to argue with Lord Voldemort.

"All I said," muttered Rabastan, "was that the Potter problem was a 'bloody mess.'"

"And you got us this job," snapped Dolohov. "Mind you, either the Dark Lord kills us because this project doesn't work, or Snape will kill us because he finds out we're the ones that messed with his blood."

"I'm sorry for getting you mixed up in it," apologized Rabastan. "We'll probably both be dead within a month or two. Let's just hope it works, or the Dark Lord decides to take us off of this job for something else."

"My own fault for standing next to an idiot," sighed Dolohov. "Just be glad we weren't sent out with the others to the Dragons. Mark my words, that lot won't live long, they won't."

"We aren't getting anywhere," Rabastan grumbled. "I'm sure Snape knows a lot more about Blood Magic than either of us. Bloody nuisance that he just happened to be chosen as the donor. Snape looked so angry... thought he'd kill someone. There's no way he'll help us. Especially if he thought we were the ones working on the project."

"He's so tetchy," sighed Dolohov, "and I'm sure he blamed us for him being chosen. I have the odd feeling he knows, some how. He's got that way of ... staring into your eyes, and just _knowing._ But what can I do if Voldemort thought he'd be the only one close enough to Hogwarts to use it, but pale enough for the blood loss not to be noticeable..."

"Damn it," cursed Rabastan. "It's congealing again. Isn't there a permanent Anticoagulant Spell?"

"If there is," said Dolohov, "then it's snug in a book smack dab in the middle of Snape's library. Trust me, he'd be happy as a lark if we ended up killed over this. You know how tetchy he is about being an ingredient. I can't figure out whether he thinks his blood is too Pure for that kind of thing, or whether he's just squeamish about adding his Essence to things."

Rabastan flipped despondently through a battered book. "I knew we'd never get anywhere with something written by Emeric Switch," he griped.

"It's simple, really," drawled Dolohov. "We bind the Essence of his blood to anything at all, and add the spells for Intent. We use some of Potter's blood to key it to him. We have it placed somewhere where that brat will find it. He touches it, the spell activates, and voom! he's dead as a stoat."

"A few small problems with that," sighed Rabastan. "Number one, we can't figure out how to separate the Essence, number two, we haven't got any way of getting Potter's blood and Snape is under orders to stay out of Potter's way so that Dumbledore doesn't suspect anything. Number three, nobody has the foggiest idea how to bind an Intent to the damn thing. It hasn't been done with any success since 1432, and that case wasn't documented. Number four is easy. We'd give it to Snape to plant in the kid's dormitory or something."

"Let's do number four and skip the rest," said Dolohov.

"Do stop joking, Antonin," snapped Rabastan. "Our little pink bodies are on the line, here. The Dark Lord is not a person to joke with, especially when it has anything to do with Harry Potter."

"I've half a mind to poison Potter's toothpaste," muttered Dolohov. "That is, I would if I weren't afraid of Snape suing me for infringing on his copyrighted assassination method."

"Ha," sneered Rabastan, "that was his only ever killing mission, and it failed."

"Not his fault, really," commented Dolohov, halfheartedly recasting the Anticoagulant Spell, "considering that his target chose that day to run off to Bulgaria, conveniently forgetting his hair brush, his toothpaste, and three boxes of chocolate frog cards."

"Never seen Snape so miffed," said Rabastan. "Thought he'd blow the house to bits when he didn't find a body to bring back. And the chocolate frog cards just took the cake. He was hoping against hope that old Mr. Krum had actually left the records there."

"Damn shame, really," said Dolohov lightly, "considering it was the chap's first assassination. Dashed embarrassing, too. Hasn't been sent on one since, come to think of it. Just spying for Dumbledore. Must be beastly boring for the poor man. Having to deal with bratty children all day, never once getting an opportunity to vent anger on Muggles..."

"From what I hear," said Rabastan, "he vents his anger on students."

"With good reason," answered Dolohov. "Children nowadays just aren't as smart, talented, or studious as we were at that age. It's Mudblood influence, of course. Makes them lazy as Flobberworms."

"It's the brain frequencies," agreed Rabastan, "from the Mudbloods they're exposed to in school. It corrodes their intellectual capacity. Shame, really, look what's happened to such promising lads as young Malfoy for instance. While his mind is shattered by the frequencies, a Mudblood scampers ahead to place top in the class. Never seen Lucius more peeved, honestly."

"Ah ha!" cried Dolohov happily, "I've found something! A Binding Spell. For Charms, actually, but I'm sure we could modify it a bit, to bind the Essence. Now all we need is a way to _extract _the Essence..."

"Let alone figuring out the rest of it," finished Rabastan. "I hope to goodness that boy falls off his broomstick tomorrow so that we can die naturally."

"Oh, don't be so moody," chided Dolohov. "The Dark Lord wouldn't kill a man with blood as Pure as yours over a thing like this. At most a Crucio, or two..."

Rabastan groaned and ran his hands through his hair. "Do you remember the way it was in the very beginning?" he asked quietly. "Remember? He never hurt us. Only them. He said we were perfect, he did. Said he couldn't rise to power without us, he did. And then bloody James Potter came along and ruined everything."

"Yes," said Dolohov dreamily. "It was so perfect. We were nearly there. Nearly had Britain under our thumbs. Idiot Gryffindor, organizing his Army of Light. If it weren't for those idiotic rumors that he'd created a counter curse for Avada Kedavra..."

"If only," agreed Rabastan. "Then our Lord wouldn't have killed him trying to find it. He wouldn't have insisted on making it a personal battle. And he wouldn't have tried to kill that blasted boy."

"He never was the same when he came back," said Dolohov. "Bitter, I suppose, that none of us came to look for him. Don't know why he can't see it our way. After all, we came to the house and all there was was a crater. Nothing left of him but his wand... Why shouldn't we have thought he was dead?"

"It started before that, I think," said Rabastan. "It started after Regulus tried to betray us all. Regulus was the first of us he ever killed... after that, I think he didn't want any chance at all of it happening again."

"Right," agreed Dolohov. "That _is_ when it happened. I forget sometimes. Regulus... I never likedRegulus. He was such a silly lad. He was all for it in theory, but when they told him to go torture information from his brother... Stupid, really. He didn't even _like _his brother. Refused to hurt him, out of 'loyalty to his family.' I suppose he can't have been right in the head, to think of Sirius Black as family after he'd been disinherited."

"Do you think Sirius knew?" mused Rabastan, discarding his book for an even nastier one. "I can't remember when he started really fighting us. Before or after Regulus was A.K.ed?"

"Doesn't matter really, does it?" asked Dolohov. "Seeing that he was arrested for going after Peter. Bloody Ministry fools... Can't tell their heroes from their villains, you know. Lucky for us, and all, but I can't help feeling sorry for the poor fool. I wonder how he escaped."

"I lost interest after we got the Dementors on our side," shrugged Rabastan. "No point in learning to escape the hard way, when all you have to do is ask nicely, and pull up your sleeve."

"How do you think he did it?" asked Dolohov. "I keep thinking that Werewolf friend of Potter's finally worked out what actually happened and went to break him out. But then how would a Werewolf infiltrate Azkaban without ending up as Dementor feed? Pity the man died, really. I'd have liked to personally ... ask him for the information."

Rabastan shrugged and searched the index for 'Essence.'

"I've heard," he said, changing the subject, "from Avery, that there's some sort of illegal charms club started up in the Ministry. Wonder if we can get anybody from there. I'm sure some idiotic Light group runs it, and we might be able to infiltrate them that way; get back into the Dark Lord's grace. Not that we'll ever have the opposition we had last time. Not with all of the fools relying on Harry Potter to save them if anything goes wrong."

Dolohov shrugged. "Not our cup of tea," he said, "seeing as neither of us can spy worth a brass Knutt . If the Dark Lord has any interest in the matter at all, he'd send Snape, of course."

"Damn the man," said Rabastan. "How _has _he kept from dying all these years? You'd think somebody in that nest of Muggle-loving idiots would have figured him out be now. He wears his heart on his sleeve; no subtly at all. You can see from a mile away where his loyalties lie. Practically has a sign on his back, saying 'Proud Supporter of the Eventual Demise of Albus Dumbledore.'"

"Either Dumbledore really is an idiot," replied Dolohov, "or Snape has a few tricks up his sleeve none of us knows about. He's a tricky, slimy fellow, Snape is. Could trick a Leprechaun out of his _real _pot of gold. Seen him do it myself, during a mission in Ireland. Any man as can beat the little people in guile, is a man to be reckoned with. I never have been able to figure him out. Was in my year at school, too. He followed people around, he did; never said anything to anybody, beyond 'pass the butter.' I wouldn't trust him further than I could throw him, personally."

"Oh, don't be an idiot," chided Rabastan. "It's all an act. He's very bad at acting, shows through every time. When he stands there with that 'I know far more than you do' expression, he's bluffing. He hasn't got any more information than the rest of us. I just wish somebody would show him up, one of these days."

"Why don't you do it?" challenged Dolohov.

"Frankly," said Rabastan, "because he's probably still mad at me, and he's always been far better than I am at dueling. I swear the man's nose can smell Spells. He always knows when he's attacked from behind. Dodges every time."

"Maybe it's some protective Rune or something," speculated Dolohov, "though I've never seen him wear anything unusual..."

"He was wearing a throat clasp last meeting," said Rabastan, "come to think of it. It was simply pulsing with magic."

"He's never worn it before though," protested Dolohov, "and he's _always _known a spell was coming his way."

"Wish I was in his good books" sighed Rabastan. "I'd give anything to know how he does it."

"Nobody is in Snape's good books," said Dolohov. "Like I said, he's a slippery, stealthy man. He doesn't trust anybody at all, certainly not enough to give them a secret like that. Probably runs in the family. Took forever for the elder Snape to die. Many people hated him enough to kill him. Not that they didn't try either. But, curse him, he died at the ripe old age of one hundred and fifty-eight. Fell down the stairs, of all the bloody things."

"Let's quit for tonight, Antonin," sighed Rabastan, slamming his book shut. "I'm too tired to think."

"I'll try and get on Malfoy's good side," said Dolohov, closing his own book. "He seems to be closer to Snape than anybody else. If I can get him to have a personal interest in the project perhaps..."

"I'd take any help just about now," said Rabastan, putting away the books, and locking the blood back in its cupboard, "even from a House Elf."

"Good night, then," said Dolohov. "I'll see you tomorrow morning. Do check your family library. Haven't you an uncle who was a Necromancer?"

"Yes, good night," yawned Rabastan. "If you see Snape, try and trip him for me. Bloody unhelpful git."


	12. Philomena Remembers

**Philomena Remembers**

Philomena woke up from a dreamless sleep, gradually becoming aware of reality. Without moving, changing her breathing, or opening her eyes, she tried remember what had happened. It seemed ages since she'd gone to sleep.

She remembered coming down the stairs, and seeing blue flames. She remembered touching one. She remembered how the Vision had taken hold of her, and how she had fallen to the floor. Embarrassed, she remembered bursting into tears, and being held by the man who had taken her in. After that, she couldn't really remember anything. Odd. Perhaps she'd stumbled upstairs to sleep again.

She became conscious of a curious noise: ka_thump_, ka_thump_, ka_thump_. She was so tired, however, that she tried to shut it out, shut out the memories, shut out everything. She just wanted sleep.

The noise kept on, however: ka_thump_, ka_thump_, ka_thumps_.

Philomena squirmed slightly. She tried to get back into that protective bubble of sleep where nothing had mattered, where nothing but contentment and safety existed.

Philomena burrowed her face further into her oddly firm pillow, trying to shut out the noise. It grew louder. Ka_thump_! Ka_thump_! Ka_thump_! She shivered, suddenly realizing that she wasn't under the covers. She pulled her legs up, until they were covered by her nightgown. Ka_thump_!

She twisted a bit, trying to get back to sleep, trying not to wake up, trying not to lose the zone of comfort and security she was enveloped in. Something in the back of her mind was bothering her, though, and the odd rhythmic thumping went on: Ka_thump_! Ka_thump_!

She curled up, trying to get warm. It was cold, and chilly. Suddenly the bed beneath her moved, slightly. Startled her eyes flew open. It was dark. She raised her head, trying to see in the darkness. The pounding noise stopped.

She realized, to her horror, that she had fallen asleep in the man's lap. She scrambled off the couch as fast as she could while trying not to wake him up. He had most probably not wanted to wake her, but had obviously fallen asleep in the process. Sprawled out on the couch, he was breathing shallowly, his jaw hanging slightly open, and his hair a mess.

Realizing he'd wasted his day for her, she tried to make him more comfortable on the couch. She took a cushion from one of the chairs, and slowly eased it beneath his head. She caught sight of the kitchen clock. It was five thirty. She took another look at the peacefully sleeping man. He had stayed with her for five hours. How much of that time had he been awake?

She shivered, and realized that he was probably as cold as she was. A chilly draft was blowing through the house. She shuffled to his bedroom, and pulled the blanket from his bed. Philomena took a moment to look about the room. She hadn't seen it before, except a glimpse through the half open door.

Bookshelves lined the walls, and there was a stack of books on his nightstand. A desk covered with scattered parchment stood in one corner, a chair in front of it. A pair of pajamas hung over the chair back, and there were a few socks lying on the floor.

Philomena wandered over to the nightstand and took a look at the first book on it. 'Protective Wards, Practical Application, and Theory,' by Wilbert Slinkhard. She flipped it open. The first page was stamped over in red: "Property of the Ministry of Magic Library. DO NOT REMOVE." Below it was another, smaller stamp in blue: "Elliot Smethwyck Reference Library."

Curious, she flipped further. There were notes scribbled in the margins, underlined sentences, and sketches of various items. They were all in the same handwriting. Although the writer had obviously taken pains to be neat, and not to harm the book, it was quite clearly not a book destined to be returned to the Elliot Smethwyck Reference Library.

She shut the book, annoyed at herself for snooping and went back to Remus. He was, thankfully, still asleep. Obviously he had sat with her the whole time, as he hadn't even removed his boots. She pulled them from his feet carefully, and then covered him with the blanket. Remus protested slightly, not quite waking up, before relapsing back into sleep.

Satisfied that she had made him comfortable, she cast an eye about the kitchen. She rolled up her sleeves, and went to work clearing the dishes from earlier. She washed them quickly, and put them away. Her place setting was still clean, seeing as she hadn't actually got around to eating.

Suddenly, she was incredibly hungry. She looked about for something to eat. There were half a dozen eggs, and various other ingredients, but nothing already cooked. She didn't trust herself to use a stove she wasn't used to, so she kept looking for something she could eat as it was.

Finally, she spied an enormous box under the sink labeled "Honeydukes Finest: Almond Milk Chocolate." Perfect. She tore it open, to find about forty extremely long bars of chocolate, wrapped in gold foil. She opened one and took a large bite. Delicious!

Delighted, she poured herself a glass of milk, and sat down. She stole another look at Remus: he had curled himself up in the blanket, sleeping like a baby. Lighting a candle, she decided that if she hadn't woken him up by now, light probably wouldn't wake him either.

She began to munch her chocolate contentedly, rethinking the events of the previous few weeks.

It had been usual enough, Uncle Ralf continually bringing in that nasty man to cast the spells on her. The spells that kept her body strictly twelve years old, six days, and four hours, while allowing her mind to age normally. She was, she knew, exactly eighteen years, four months, and twenty-six days old.

Philomena kept a very accurate count of the days in her head to keep herself sane. She had kept it up for several years now. After all, since she never changed at all, it helped to know that she had still lived every second of her life. She checked the clock: eighteen years, four months, twenty-six days, twenty-one hours, and twenty minutes.

When Ralf had called her down, a few weeks ago, and it hadn't been time for either lessons with her various tutors, or the day for giving blood, she had been quite nervous. She had hidden her elation, when he had told her she would finally be allowed to leave the house for good.

She had been a little less elated when he had told her that she was going to meet her real father. Suddenly, she hadn't felt so guilty about hating Uncle Ralf. After all, hating an uncle was far less a crime than hating your own father. Maybe.

"Remus is a Werewolf, you see, love," he had said, "and he didn't want to risk hurting you when you were small. Now he has a potion that keeps him safe during the Moon. He has asked to take you in, seeing as I am leaving for ... business."

Philomena had known quite well he was lying, or at least bending the truth. He was leaving to save himself, she knew. The Dark One was rising; she had heard it from her tutors. They had all told her stories: of the savior, the boy who had done so well. Of the Eaters of Death who attacked strategically, undermining the Ministry from within. Of the Ministry, which refused to believe in the spider in whose web they were caught.

Remus certainly didn't look as though he had 'asked' to take her in. He looked more like someone who was trying very hard to get used to an idea. He had, in fact, admitted as much inadvertently: he said he had thought she was dead. One didn't offer to take in dead people. One was told that they were alive after all, and then told to.

Obviously, 'Uncle Ralf,' had done what he always did: manipulate. He had always been a schemer, and she knew exactly why. He came from a long line of Wizards, and had ended up without Magic. A Squib. He pretended, of course, to be a Muggle, but he succeeded quite well in both worlds, supplying a vast network of dealers in both Black Markets.

Philomena knew a great deal Ralf thought she had no idea about. For instance, the fact that Ralf was a Werewolf. After a lucky accident with his Pensieve, she had quickly realized that if she wanted the truth, she needed to access that veritable mine of information as often as possible. She had lived through many of his memories, when he was 'out on business.'

His 'business,' was simple. There were plenty of Muggles open minded enough to want Wizard products, particularly those who had some knowledge of Magic through friends or relations. Legally, being Muggles, they were only allowed to purchase certain items that would go unnoticed in the Muggle world. Wizards had little use for most Muggle products, but ingredients, books, and weapons of Dark Magic were in high demand. Some were even perfectly legal in the Muggle world. And so the illegal trade flourished.

Sometime in his twenties he had been bitten, right before his marriage to a beautiful and talented Witch. Werewolves were not allowed to marry, or have children. He had lost her forever, and, what was worse, the children he was not permitted to have.

Ralf's family was an ancient one, and pure. All the more reason for the family's disappointment in him when he'd turned out to be a Squib. That was why he hid in the Muggle world under his nickname, instead of remaining to be ridiculed. The family line could be traced through many centuries, back to a very powerful Seer.

Seer's blood had been passed down from generation to generation, but only to the daughters, for the Seer's art was exclusive to female Mages. There had never been a male Seer in all of magical history. Of the daughters, only about five percent became true Seers, and, strangely enough, daughters were rare. There hadn't been a female child in the family for nearly a hundred years, and she had sadly not kept the art past her twelfth year.

Ralf, however, had a plan. He had found several spells to ensure the gender of a child before birth. And for years he had worked to develop a potion to keep the physical body from growing old. The potion had a rather nasty side effect of causing serious memory lapses from time to time, but he didn't particularly care. The reason was clear. As long as his daughters were young, they could never lose the gift. As long as they had the gift, they could See for him. And the more they Saw, the greater Ralf's power.

Ralf's great plan flew to the winds, however, after his bite. The Werewolf who had bitten him was caught and put down, but that was cold comfort to Ralf who had just lost a great deal of his freedom. Then, it had happened. Once, in a fit of depression, he had forgotten the date, forgotten to lock himself in as prescribed in the Werewolf Code of Conduct. He had got loose and run through the countryside.

He came upon a small boy, perhaps no more than eight. Instincts had taken over. With a wild need to kill, to grab, to mark, he had pounced.

He hadn't remembered much of it the next day but had noticed a curious feeling, as though there was always something in the corner of his eye. Gradually he learned that this new sense connected himself to the Cub he'd created. After much thought, he'd decided to visit his handiwork. That much had taken nearly an entire year. It hadn't been easy to find accurate texts on the sense that bound a Wolf to his Cub... or to his Mate.

Then, he had met Moony, and realized the lucky accident, the gift Fate had given him. Finally, he would have a chance to have a Seer in his power after all. He knew the child would most probably be a Werewolf, but that wouldn't matter. A Seer remained a Seer, Wolf or not.

Convincing Remus proved impossible. Convincing Moony was deliciously easy. Remus was twelve years old by the time Ralf had finally decided to take the risk. Remus was naturally quite opposed to the idea. But Moony was a Wolf, with the instincts and mind of a Wolf. Moony was another matter entirely.

Ralf had justified his actions by strictly separating Moony and Remus in his mind. Moony had wanted it. Remus hadn't. Remus wasn't Moony, so what did it matter? Moony had wanted to keep the child, but Remus hadn't wanted it in the first place. Ralf had taken the child in that time where the other wasn't quite Moony and wasn't quite Remus.

Philomena had been disgusted with what she had seen. She had done her best to resist the Visions that came to her, to prevent herself from helping a man who could perpetrate such a wrong. It had been futile.

Her Visions had proven to be shaky; some were accurate, some were not. Ralf soon gave up trying to use them for his climb to power. Her blood however, proved extremely useful and lucrative. Blood Magic was powerful and strictly controlled by the Ministry, or at least that's what the Ministry thought.

Soon, it had become usual, for her to 'give' about a pint of blood regularly. There was a reason she was pale, after all.

She had tried to escape several times, but had no place to go to and no one to turn to. She had always been brought back quickly and punished. Then, he had called her down one day and told her she was leaving and that her 'father' was taking her in.

Anything, she had thought, would be better than where she was, and she went along with his plans without protest. Unfortunately, Ralf still refused to remove the spell binding her aging, either because he hoped to have further use for her later, or because a Counterspell, or Antidote hadn't been discovered yet. And so, Philomena found herself doing just what she had been doing for several years - pretending to be a girl much younger than she actually was.

A great spark of hope arose in her when Remus admitted that he wasn't sure when she had been born. She had wondered before then if he could possibly have known about Ralf's plans, or received some profit from them. After all, Ralf had placed only the painful, confusing, or irritating memories in the Pensieve. She didn't know everything, only various isolated events from which she construed a coherent whole.

Perhaps, she thought as she watched him sleep, there was hope. If she told him the truth he might help her. From what she'd seen of his laboratory, sneaking down when he had been out for a moment, he appeared to be a great master at Defense, though he had admitted to being hopeless at Potions.

She would have to get into the good graces of Mr. Snape then, she decided. With both of them, she hoped she could finally stop the constant act, the constant pain of having a body considerably different from what her mind told her she was. Perhaps... she could finally live a life worth living.


	13. Chocolate and Avada Kedavra

**Chocolate and Avada Kedavra**

Remus awoke with a start. He ran a hand through his hair, and stifled a yawn. Sitting up lazily, he struggled to his feet and realized confusedly that he was still dressed, though his boots had been removed.

Philomena must have woken earlier and tucked him in, he thought dazedly, feeling quite embarrassed. "S'posed to go the other way around," he said to himself, as he pulled his boots back on. "I'm supposed to take care of her."

Jumping off the sofa, he looked around for her. He noticed the light on in the kitchen, and stumbled towards it. Quietly, he opened the door. He leaned on the doorframe and watched her with amusement. She had apparently found his supply of Anti-Dementor Chocolate, and was making short work of it.

"Hello," he finally said.

She started and spun around in her chair. Realizing it was Remus, she relaxed slightly.

He smiled wanly at her. "Thanks for tucking me in," he said. "And I see you've found my chocolate stash."

She blushed in embarrassment. Looking down she realized that she had eaten far more than she'd thought, nearly half of the box. "I... I was hungry," she said apologetically.

"It's all right," said Remus. "I wasn't saving it for anything."

"I'm sorry for acting the way I did," she said. "I shouldn't have cried like that."

Remus walked into the kitchen and sat opposite her. "I didn't mind," he said. "I was so worried... are you all right now?"

She nodded. "I'm sorry for wasting your day," she apologized.

Remus shrugged, and took a chocolate bar.

She shifted uncomfortably. "I have to tell you something," she said at last.

Remus looked up, and waited for her to continue.

"I... I'm not twelve," she said quickly. "I'm eighteen. Ralf had me Spelled. For the blood, you know. I should have told you before, but I was afraid that if you knew... "

Remus swallowed. "I thought as much," he said, "but supposed that he'd modified your memory, after having you in suspended animation for years."

She sighed. "I don't know exactly what he did," she said. "He refused to remove the Spells when he sent me here. I... I was wondering if... if you could reverse them."

He frowned. "I'd have to know how the Spells worked," he said slowly. "There might not even be a Counterspell, in which case it might take anywhere between days and years before I'm able to find a solution."

"It was a combination of things," she said. "A potion, and some spells."

"I'll have to know what incantations he used," said Remus. "What wand movements... as for the potions, maybe if we ask Severus he'll be able to do something. Frankly, I have been looking for age freezing Spells, but I haven't been able to find anything as yet. He might have created it himself, or had somebody else do so for him."

She wrinkled her brow in thought. "There were several, and they usually cast them right after I'd been bled. They recast them every year, but I don't remember anything except a lot of yellow light."

Remus grabbed a pencil from his pocket, and scribbled the information on a discarded chocolate wrapper. "Wand moments?" he asked. "Can you remember anything about them? Were they abrupt, or more structured?"

"I couldn't see," she replied glumly. "They always got me in the back. Bloody cowards."

"Language, young lady," reproved Remus mildly.

She glared at him. Remus suppressed a smile.

The Wards blared out at just that moment. Remus stood and peered out the window. A figure was hurrying towards the house, head bent against the icy wind.

"Your Wards are very elaborate," she commented.

The smoke arose and swirled into words:

Recognized: The Enigma.

Armed: Wand.

Emotion: No Reading Available.

Remus dispelled it and went to open the door. Snape stood there, wrapped tight in his cloak. He swayed in place for a moment, before falling forward into the room. Remus caught him, and pulled him in, slamming the door behind him.

Severus shook Remus off and sank into the nearest chair. "Blast it, Remus," he snapped, "must your Antiapparition Ward go so far?"

Remus raised his eyebrows and took in a sight he never thought he'd see. Snape was sitting in his kitchen, sneaking a chocolate bar, his hair and cloak dusted with snow.

"Your quite welcome to the chocolate, Snape," said Remus, flinging himself back into his chair. "Eat up."

Snape shot him a glare that would have withered an oak tree and took a large bite out of Honeyduke's Finest.

"Good evening, Mr. Snape," said Philomena softly. "Would you like me to make you some tea? You must be chilled through."

Snape noticed her for the first time and raised a snowy eyebrow at her. "That would be very nice of you, Ms. Lupin," he said quietly.

She nodded, and busied herself at the stove. Remus decided he might as well eat more chocolate before it was gone and took another bar. "Evening, Snape," he said, unwrapping it. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"

"To my checking that your daughter hasn't had a negative reaction to the Potion, of course, and your welcome, Lupin," answered Snape. "How long did she sleep?"

"Until five, or so," answered Philomena, "give or take a moment in which I started to cry like a baby about a Vision."

"Yes, you would tend to be a bit on edge for several hours after waking," mused Severus. "Did the voracious appetite assert itself as well?"

"Of course," said Remus. "Did you think I normally had Honeyduke's Finest for dinner?"

Snape was about to remark that he had no idea what a Werewolf normally had for dinner, and that he couldn't have known who'd eaten all of the chocolate, but Philomena spoke first.

"You're covered in blue flames, Mr. Snape," she said filling the teapot. "You've so many more than my father."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "I was wondering whether the Pulses would manifest themselves visually to you," he said. "I wasn't sure."

"Should I catch one?" she asked turning towards him.

Snape seemed to be considering something. "No," he said finally. "I'd rather you didn't. I'm sure you've realized by now that some of your Visions come to pass, while others do not. That is because there are several possible futures at any one time, and there is no way to tell which one is the actual future. I'd rather... not know any of them, for fear of being misled into doing something terminally stupid."

Remus laughed. "I have a hard time imagining you doing something terminally stupid, Severus," he said.

Snape raised an eyebrow at him, the melting snow dripping down his face. "I think," he said, "that joining the Dark Lord qualifies as terminally stupid."

"Not that you'd know anything about that," said Remus, jerking his head pointedly towards Philomena.

Her back was fortunately turned away from them as she got out cups.

Snape shrugged indifferently, shuffling out of his cloak. Tossing it over the back of his chair, he pulled a handkerchief from his sleeve, to wipe the thawing snow from his face before reaching for another bar.

"Oh, don't be such a prat, Lupin," he said. "Nearly everybody suspects it, or says it on occasion. She might as well know I was an idiot in my youth."

Philomena turned round. "You joined the Dark One?" she asked quietly.

Snape nodded, once.

"Yes," she muttered nodding, "that was terminally stupid." That said, she turned back round and continued to fuss with the tea.

"A little more respect if you please," said Remus. "This is, after all, the man that cured you. I wouldn't run around calling him terminally stupid."

"I'm sorry," said Philomena sounding only mildly contrite. "After all, he _did _say it himself first."

Snape smirked. "Lupin, Lupin," he chided, "you, of all people, should know how absolutely useless it is to try to get people to have any sort of respect for me whatsoever. That, however, is beside the point. Have you, Ms. Lupin, felt any constriction of your breathing, unnatural quickening of the heart, or faintness?"

"No," she said. "I'm just tired, I suppose. And hungry."

"Chocolate is a very good antidote to the poison of hunger," said Snape taking another bar. "Especially for people who have missed meals researching for ungrateful pests like the Potter boy."

Remus sighed. "It wasn't suspended animation after all. She apparently remembers it."

Snape cocked his head to one side. "Interesting." After a pause, he continued, "explain?"

Philomena poured tea, and began to tell her story again. "After my Visions proved inconsistent, he tried a series of charms on me, none of which seemed to satisfy him. I don't know which of them worked. It was so long ago... Then he gave me a potion, and I think that did the trick. There are some spells which he does periodically, I'm not sure exactly what does what, and he always casts, or has them cast, right after I've been bled, so my memories are very vague."

"It's a miracle you didn't have an adverse reaction," said Snape. "If your blood's that full of Spells, anything might have had a reaction... Unforgivably careless of me to give it to you without examining your blood first."

"Nothing happened," said Philomena dismissively.

"I have realized," said Snape, "that sometimes things that _might _happen are as important as things that actually _do _happen. Sometimes, accidents are narrowly avoided, but that doesn't make the perpetrators any less careless, or any more innocent."

Remus looked away, guessing that Snape was referring to the unfortunate incident in the Shack, during their third year. Yes, he thought, it had been his fault, and even if nothing had happened, it might have, and therein lay his guilt.

Snape turned to Remus absentmindedly fiddling with the clasp at his throat. "I suppose," he said carelessly, "you'll want me to find an antidote?"

"Oh, Mr. Snape," said Philomena, "if you only could! I'd be so grateful..."

"I'll need either a sample of the original potion," said Snape, "or a damn good description of it. I think, perhaps, we can make this our first lesson. Describe it."

"It was grainy," she said, "and dark green. It smelled like petrol and tasted... something between Veritaserum, and Wit Sharpening Solution, so I suspect it contained jobberknoll feathers, and armadillo bile."

"You may have a potions expert on your hands, Lupin," said Snape. "Most people wouldn't remember anything about the potion except perhaps the taste, and even then most wouldn't be able to deduce ingredients by comparing it to other potions."

"You've taken Veritaserum?" asked Remus.

She nodded. "Ralf isn't a very trusting person."

Snape frowned, seeming about to say something, when he suddenly grimaced in pain and jumped up. "I'll look into it," he said, before bolting out the door. "Bloody Antiapparition fields," they heard him curse as he broke into a run.

Remus stared after him dazedly. "He's forgotten his cloak," said Philomena grabbing it. "He'll freeze."

She ran out the door, and pelted headlong after him. Remus watched from the door as she sprinted towards him, calling his name. Snape turned, having nearly reached the end of the wards. She threw the cloak towards him; he caught it, waved, and ran on. At the end of the Wards, he Disapparated.

Philomena walked slowly back to the house. Remus waited for her in the doorway, and put his arm around her when she came in. She was shivering. He shut the door, and led her to the chair.

"What was wrong with him?" she asked. "He just bolted."

"Called, probably," said Remus grimly. "I hope he'll be all right."

XXX

Harry Potter hated Tuesdays. To begin with, he had Potions, Astronomy, and Arithmancy all on the same day, all with the Slytherins. That was a good enough reason to hate any day, let alone a day as horrid as Tuesday. Added to that was the fact that he knew the Quidditch team was practicing, while he could not. Dumbledore had insisted he drop it for the good of the world. After all, you couldn't defeat the darkest Wizard in history by catching little balls on broomsticks.

This particularly Tuesday hadn't gone as badly as usual however. Potions was all right. Snape, while being exact as ever, seemed not to have time to bother baiting Harry. He did take a fair amount of points from Neville, but that would have happened even if it weren't Tuesday.

Arithmancy was tolerable. Not only did Hermione loosen up enough to commit the academic sin of slipping him the answer to a question Vector was asking, but Malfoy had also arrived nearly ten minutes late refusing to give an explanation, and had lost Slytherin a good twenty points.

Astronomy had been simple theory, since the midnight classes would be held on the twelfth, in order to observe the full moon, and Orion. Merely having to look interested while Sinistra gabbed on about how wonderful it would be when they finally got to see the constelation she was talking about was easy, and the Slytherins were too set back by Draco's recent loss of points to try to spoil the atmosphere.

Finally, Harry's classes were over, and he returned to his dormitory, and got out the books Snape had given him to read. He had until Monday to read them, but he wanted to get through them before the weekend, so that he would have enough time to let what he'd read sink in.

He started decided to start with _Avada Kedavra Charm or Curse? An Analysis_. He skipped the introduction, and started the first chapter:

_Desire and Intent_

_ Intent and Desire are some of the most important aspects of magic. Avada Kedavra is not the only Spell that varies in its effects due to the Intent and Desire of the Caster. Intent, however, is not as simply as it may appear: Intent is governed by the conscious mind, Desire by the subconscious mind. _

_Intent is what the Caster hopes to gain with his spell. Desire is what the Caster, in his heart of hearts, wishes. For example, when a Mage casts Wingardium Leviosa, the Intent of the Caster is to levitate the Object (a feather). The Object will levitate more, or less, depending on how strong the Desire to levitate the Object is. _

_Occasionally, however, a Desire to levitate something other than the Object the Spell is intended for will modify the Energy enough to successfully levitate that Object. This principle is what came into play when Boris the Bewildered was assassinated with Wingardium Leviosa, when a rebel levitated him until his skull cracked on the ceiling. The Desire to levitate Boris the Bewildered, however, would not have had any effect, had the assassin's Intent been to levitate a feather. The Intent and Desire must be the same for such an effect to take place. _

_Avada Kedavra, however, is a Spell that routinely breaks all known Laws of Magical Theory. The Intent of the Caster is overridden if a Desire exists in the Caster, the Object of which is in the Caster's line of sight._

_Avada Kedavra, literally, means, "let it be so." It is the first, and most primitive of spells, but has proved the hardest for Wizards to understand. For many centuries, it was believed that the Caster had complete control over the effects of this spell. Avada Kedavra was originally not known as the Killing Curse, but simply as The Charm of Charms, since it did not have any fixed effect, but varied according to the Intent of the Caster. It was used for everything. _

_As said, when a Desire other than the Intent is manifest, than the Desire is that which activates Avada Kedavra. For instance, the famed Lance Flaubert had the Intent, according to Veritatserum testimony at his trial, merely to heat up a cup of cocoa. However, his deeply seated Desire to kill his wife took over the spell. (see: Annotated Records of Great Trials of 1211 by Darth Brown)_

_For centuries, it was thought that the Caster of Avada Kedavra had complete control over its effects. Recent research however, has proved the contrary. The Caster's Intent rarely corresponds to the actual effect when used for day to day needs, simply because in the underlying Psyche of the average Mage, lie many deep Desires, any of which may activate the spell._

_According to the Evolutionary Theory of Magic, primitive Mages used Avada Kedavra for all Spells, since they were simply people, and had no greater desires than those at hand. As time went on, however, use of Avada Kedavra became increasingly unpredictable, forcing the creation of newer, more precise spells for regular magic. It was still used whenever another Spell was not known, or the Mage could not remember the proper incantation. Thus was the case with Flaubert. _

_Because of its unpredictability, Avada Kedavra fell into disuse except for desperate situations, when the Desire was sure to correspond to the Intent of the Caster. For this reason, it was banned in 1321, except for use in emergency circumstances. _

_Avada Kedavra did not become known as the Killing Curse until 1412. By that time, Avada Kedavra was rarely used, on account of the strict Ministry Guidelines, and its unpredictability. It became, over time, the Curse of choice for murderers and assassins, for the Desire to kill is generally quite strong, and will override others, especially when the Intent corresponds to it._

_Avada Kedavra has puzzling limits as to its power. Theoretically, if a Mage used the spell, and his deepest Desire was to kill a certain person, that person would die, wherever they happened to be. However, for reasons Wizards have been unable to determine, it only works when the object of the Desire is in the immediate line of sight of the Caster. For this reason, a deeper Desire than the immediate Desire to kill is usually bypassed simply because the Object is too far away for the Spell to have effect._

_For instance, if a Mage's deepest Desire is to be reunited with a lost friend, Avada Kedavra is useless. It will, however, heal wounds beyond most Medical Magic if the patient is within the Caster's line of sight, and the Caster has a great Desire for their health. The same spell would not heal the patient if the Caster were out of sight. _

_In 1743, Nicholas Flammel made the startling discovery that Avada Kedavra would not function at all if used under Imperius. This fact has been suppressed, and censored to protect certain influential Mages who used Imperius as an excuse when accused of murder. _

_This fact, however, should be obvious to any thinking Mage. Imperius works by suppressing the actual Desire and Intent of the Object. Therefore, Avada Kedavra, which works _only_ through Desire and Intent, is negated. _

_Avada Kedavra was ruled by the Wizengamot to be Unforgivable in 1732._

Harry stopped reading, and thought for a moment. He remembered that Crouch, in Moody's disguise, had said that the whole class could point their wands and say the words without harming him. Of course they wouldn't have, because none of them would have wanted him dead. Their Intent wouldn't have been strong enough. The Spell would have no effect, since the Object of their Desire was most likely not in the Defense Against Dark Arts Classroom.

He considered what his deepest desire was. According to the Mirror of Erised, it had been to have a family. But Harry was sure his deepest wish had changed since his first year. He desired to defeat Voldemort. He considered, for a moment, whether he was capable of killing him.

Harry sighed. No matter how much he tried, he couldn't quite picture himself killing anybody, not even Voldemort. He just didn't have it in him to kill. Perhaps there was another way to defeat Voldemort. Harry would have to have to ask Snape when the time came. 


	14. Full Moon

**Full Moon**

Throughout the week, Remus heard nothing from Snape whatsoever. However, he assumed the man was all right, considering that no emergency Order meeting had been called, and Harry hadn't written as he would have if Snape had disappeared from Hogwarts. Remus grimaced, staring out the window. In a few hours the sun would set, and the moon would rise. If Severus didn't arrive soon, Remus would have to lock himself up somehow.

Convincing Philomena that Severus was all right had been relatively easy. Convincing himself had been impossible. Remus found himself staring out the window, watching for an owl, cocking an ear expecting the Wards to ring out and in general being very on edge.

Philomena seemed to realize that something was bothering him but probably assumed it was merely the oncoming Moon. "Father," she said, tugging him away from the window again, "it's all right. Do stop fretting."

Remus sighed. After the time she had cried herself to sleep in his lap, things had become easier between them. They hadn't talked about it, but the incident had opened them both up to each other resulting in an easy connection between them.

Remus had found the Wolf continually harder to fight down with the new protective urge overpowering. He reverted to the speech of the Pack when speaking to his daughter, and continually called her, "love," "my heart." Not only did reverting to Pack dynamics appeased the Wolf somewhat, but he was also fast developing a genuine fondness for the odd girl.

She was still quiet and reserved, but since she had revealed her greatest secret to Remus, she had relaxed. Most importantly, she had dropped every last remnant of the twelve-year-old act. While it was jarring for Remus to talk seriously with a girl who looked twelve, or, worse yet, let her into his lab to assist him, he had gotten used to her, and was working quite hard to find a Spell to restore her to her true form.

He let himself be pulled back to the couch. "Sorry, love," he said. "I... got carried away."

"The moon," she said, nodding. "I know."

"It's... It's not only that," he said. "I'm worried about Severus."

"You said yourself that Mr. Snape would be perfectly all right," she reasoned. "You've no reason to fret like this. None at all."

He ran a hand through his hair. "He normally delivers my potion in the morning. I do hope he gets here before..."

Her eyes widened. He shook his head, sadly, and sighed. "If he doesn't make it over in time I have a room in the lab. No matter what you hear, no matter what happens, you are not to go down there, do you understand?"

She nodded, once. "Yes, father. I understand."

He was grateful for the fact that she didn't ask whether he'd be all right, or how well the room was warded, or whether there was anything she could do. He knew she accepted him on his own terms, and accepted that he knew what he was doing. That was more than he could say for his friends, who had simply decided that it was their job to take care of him and Remus hadn't been the type to say no.

He started when he felt her hand on his arm. He realized he had been mutilating an innocent scrap of parchment between his fingers. Sheepishly, he met her gaze. She was smiling in an indulgent sort of way.

"No need to kill the parchment," she said. "Seriously, you need to relax. If you keep torturing yourself like this you'll have a nervous breakdown." She rose from the couch, and headed for the kitchen. "I've made you some tea. It'll calm you down a bit."

Remus sighed. "I'm a rotten parent," he joked. "My children have to constantly feed me tea to keep me in check."

"Nonsense," she said. "I'm just a bad daughter. Selfish thing I am, really. I just make you tea so that I don't have to deal with your moods."

"I don't have moods," said Remus indignantly, following her into the kitchen.

She smirked at him. "Of course you do, father."

He threw himself back into his chair. "However did I live without you, my heart?" he asked.

"I haven't the foggiest," she answered dryly, handing him his cup. "Drink the lot."

He laughed shakily at her commanding tone, which reminded him strongly of his mother. That was who she looked like, he told himself. His mother...

"Did I ever tell you that you look like my mother?" he asked.

She looked startled. "No, you hadn't mentioned it."

"I didn't realize it before now," he said slowly. "Because your hair is nothing like hers. She was a wonderful woman..."

She sat on the table, and scooted over until was next to him. She'd taken to sitting on the table, mainly because she liked to be at eye level with the people she was talking to. "Were you very close?" she asked.

Remus leaned back, sipped his tea, and remembered. "Yes," he said, "I adored her. She... doted on me, really. I was such a spoiled little thing. Until... until Ralf came along and..."

"Did she abandon you?" Philomena asked. "Because you were a Wolf?"

Remus shook his head. "I wish she had," he said sadly. "She killed herself."

Philomena blinked and was at a loss for something to say. "She couldn't bear it," he continued. "To see that her baby was hurt and that there wasn't anything she could do about it. Add the fact that father thought it best that I be bundled off to the Ministry..."

"Where you?" she asked. "Bundled off, I mean."

Remus shrugged. "I suppose you could say so," he said. "They had me registered, gave me a number. Locked me up in their ridiculous compound for the Change, and didn't allow me to contact unaffected children..."

"How old were you?"

He shut his eyes, memories flooding through him, calming in their familiarity. "Eight. And then... and then Albus Dumbledore arrived to speak to me. I had received a Hogwarts letter, and he had to convince them to let me go. Had to go through all sorts of trouble to get me out of there. I never went back."

She made an inarticulate sound in the back of her throat in sympathy. He leaned back in his chair, eyes still shut, smiling softly. "They were the best years of my life, in Hogwarts, the worst, too, somehow. On the one hand I had everything I never had before. Friends, freedom, hope. On the other, I was constantly afraid of losing it all. I had never really been afraid before. I nearly did lose all of it..."

She didn't speak, thinking it better to let him talk. "And then everything went wrong. The Dark Lord began the War, and James got himself and his wife involved straight away. James... was one of my best friends. Along with Sirius, and Peter. Sirius... Merlin, he was confusing back in those days. He was always with James, vowing to fight the good fight, and then, next moment, he'd be writing long letters to his brother, and we all knew his brother was on the other side.

"None of them really trusted me, then. Oh, they wanted too, I suppose, and they said they did, but nobody really trusts a Dark Creature... they wouldn't let me take part in their fight. I swallowed my pride, and didn't argue the point. Still... I tried to stay around, like a good friend. They got the wrong idea though. They thought I was trying to figure out what they were working on for the war..."

Remus began to slide his finger around and around the rim of his cup. A low ringing sound filled the room. It seemed to be soothing to him, and though Philomena found it grating, she gritted her teeth, and said nothing.

"That's the trouble with most people," he continued. "They'll think the worst of those they think _ought _to be betraying them as a matter of course, and never bother to check those who actually are. It's a logical fallacy, but I suppose it can't be helped. A man can't see the stains on his own shirt, after all.

"Peter." He seemed lost in thought for a moment. "I suppose I should have said what I suspected. It wouldn't have done any good, because they would have thought I was doing it out of jealousy, or to have Peter removed so I could get more information... Peter knew that. Every time he looked me in the eye, I could see that he knew I knew what he was.

"Peter was my fault, too. When I saw... what a friendless boy he was at school, I felt it my duty to make sure he had somebody. To make sure there were people around him who would protect him from the teasers and taunters. I had known what that was like...

"I became a brother to him. My "protégé," Sirius called him. And he began to look up to me, all of us actually. He admired James for his skills on a broom, and Sirius for his skills at being the most annoying thing since the invention of the leaky faucet, but... I was the one he looked up to most. I felt... responsible for him. And he was the only one who trusted me in the end.

"I know... sounds odd, doesn't it? The traitor trusted me. He knew I wasn't going to betray my friends, and he knew that included him. He trusted me enough not to hide himself... I should have done something. But I couldn't believe that Peter, MY responsibility, could go against our friends.

"And he _trusted _me, love, he trusted me. He never begged me not to tell, he trusted I wouldn't without saying. Occasionally, he would drop a hint to me. Told me to make sure not to be certain places. Or to make sure James didn't trust certain people. Of all people, I was the worst to choose as a messenger.. James couldn't look me in the eye. Sirius gave me odd looks, and refused to speak more than a sentence to me at a time. Lilly... she had always been fond of me. Told them several times that I was trustworthy, that she was sure I couldn't be doing anything untoward, but she was outvoted.

"It happened. The great, big, terrible _it _happened. James and Lilly, dead. They told me, and held me at their headquarters at wand point, until they received more news: Peter was dead, and Sirius had taken out half street to kill him.

"Werewolves aren't permitted to give testimony. I told Dumbledore what I knew, in a desperate attempt to save my last friend. He merely gazed sadly at me, and said that even if Sirius was innocent of betraying Lilly and James, he had still killed fourteen people..."

"I was the only one left, after that, Philomena. I did the only thing that was safe: I studied. The War went on for about a year after the Dark Lord's disappearance, with the maverick Death Eaters wreaking havoc without organization or a leader. And I studied. Defense, Wards... anything I thought I could use to help the Light. Even though they didn't want my help.

"Dumbledore, of course, believed in 'second chances.' I hadn't really been given a _first _chance when the war began... but when he saw that I hadn't gone to the Dark, he began to believe that perhaps I could help the Light... and so I did.

"After the war was over, and I was no longer needed... I finally got a job in the Ministry, of all places. Diplomat. I spent a few years negotiating with all sorts of nasty foreign powers, until my _own _country decided I was not human enough to represent them.

"Then, I started working with Wards. I put up Wards on family estates, government property, and even some for Hogwarts. That is, until one of my coworkers realized what I was and decided that my employers would appreciate the knowledge...

"I taught a year at Hogwarts. I suppose that was mostly because Dumbledore couldn't find anybody else... and, as usual, somebody let the secret slip. Two more years. Hardly an employed month in them together. Hard to get a job when the Daily Prophet's run your picture with headlines like, "Slavering Monster Teaching Children Cabalistic Spells," and "Remus J Lupin: Hogwarts' Dirty Secret."

"The War started up again... and I was useful once more. Back with the Dumbledore, doing more Wards, more Protective Spells. So called Top Secret work, that, give or take a few months, is usually published as an original breakthrough by one of my 'respectable,' colleagues.

"And there you have it, Philomena. How to become a social leper, a diplomat, and a secret agent, in a few easy steps."

Philomena was silent for a moment grateful that Remus' finger had stopped making his cup sing the praises of Earl Grey. "Do you always end up telling your life story when under stress, or did you just feel like venting?"

He opened his eyes again, and looked into hers. "Neither," he said. "I just thought you ought to know a bit more about who I am. I'd rather get the basics covered in one sitting than have you try and sift out my live story piecemeal from whatever odd hints one might normally drop in conversation."

Philomena nodded, slowly. Remus realized with a start just how late it had become. The sun hadn't yet set, but it had about half an hour left before starting. He got to his feet, and gulped the rest of his tea down.

"All right," he said. "I am going down to the lab. There's a room down there. I will lock myself in. It probably won't be necessary, but I'd feel better if you locked the basement door from the outside as well. Remember... whatever you hear, _don't_ try to interfere."

She got off the table nervously. "Yes," she said.

"I have time yet," he said, "but I'd rather not risk drifting off again. Good night, love."

To his amazement, she hugged him tightly. "I... just be all right, will you?" she said. "Don't hurt yourself."

He disentangled her gently. "Easier said than done, I'm afraid," he sighed. "But I'll be all right. Don't worry about me if I'm not up for breakfast. I'll probably be unconscious until noon."

She watched from the top of the stairs as he walked purposefully down them, and unbolted a large door. He opened it, and she saw that it contained nothing, except a high window, and a blanket. He turned towards her.

"Lock it," he said.

She nodded and did as she was told. She leaned against the door, and heard the clang of the heavy bolt being shut down in the basement. He must have spelled it shut, she thought, since the bolt was on the outside.

Suddenly, she was quite nervous. She found herself watching the window, just as she had scolded Remus for doing before. The sunset was beautiful, though she was in no mood to enjoy it. Slowly, the sun dipped down through the sky, reaching the horizon in a blaze of red and gold.

Abtuptly the Wards rang out in warning. Philomena waited for the usual smoke to warn her of the intruder's identity, but it didn't come. Apparently, they were attuned strictly to Remus. Philomena tried to calm herself down, telling herself she would be all right.

Running to the window, she stared out into the twilight.

It was Snape, she realized, running as fast as he could. She flung the door open as he barrelled in. "Where is he?" he demanded.

"Downstairs, in the lab," she answered. "He's locked himself in."

Snape unlocked the door, and hurtled down the stairs. She watched, as he flung the back the bolt, and entered the room. She caught a glimpse of her father, crouched on the floor beneath the window, before Snape stepped in front of him.

"No, Snape!" she heard Remus rasp. "You're too late. Get out. Please. Move."

She didn't dare shut the door, in case Snape should need to come up the stairs quickly. So she continued to watch.

"Came as fast as I could, Lupin," said Snape, forcing a bottle into Remus' hand. "Drink it quickly while you still have a chance."

Remus grabbed it, and gulped it down. He dropped the empty vial to the floor, staggering back against the wall. Moonlight streamed through the window making odd striped patterns on his face. The Change began.

Lupin's body twisted in an impossible arc, and a cry of pain left his throat. Snape stood frozen in shock, one hand scrabbling helplessly for the door. As suddenly as it had begun, it was over, and a tremendous Wolf fell to the floor.

The Wolf stood, tall, and gray. She took a step forward. With an inarticulate cry, Snape came to himself enough to run. He ran up the stairs, and into the kitchen, slamming the door behind him. He braced himself against it, still in a state of panic. An unearthly howl came from below.

Snape's eyes were wide open, and his breathing was erratic. He staggered forward and collapsed in the middle of the room, shivering violently. Philomena darted forward to help him. She knelt beside him on the floor, and removed his cloak.

His eyes stared into space and his breathing was speeding up. She quickly loosened his collar, as well as his sleeves. Rolling up his cloak, she slipped it beneath his feet, mentally going over everything she'd ever read about traumatic shock.

She ran and grabbed the blanket from Remus' bedroom. "I seem to spend all my time tucking the men of my life in," she thought wildly to herself as she threw it over him. He stared unseeingly at the ceiling, hyperventilating.

"Calm the patient down," she recited mentally, "and keep him from moving unnecessarily."

"It's all right," she said softly, pushing his hair away from his face, "it's all right, it's all right, it's all right."

Slowly, Snape came back to himself. His breathing returned to normal, as did his pulse. He scrabbled away from her, and pulled himself to his feet. He swayed for a moment unsteadily.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

"I... yes," he said at last. "Thank you."

He turned away from her, leaning on the table, getting himself back under control. She looked nervously at the basement door. "That hasn't happened to me in nearly twenty years, Ms. Lupin," he said sounding miles away. "I haven't ...lost control like that since..."

"It's all right," she said again.

"I would appreciate it if... you didn't mention the incident," he said, carefully not looking at her.

"Of course not," she whispered. "I'm so glad you came in time. I was so scared..."

"Only a fool wouldn't be scared at a time like this," he said.

"Is he safe?" she asked anxiously.

"Yes," he answered grimly, "as safe as humanly possible."

She picked up his cloak from the floor and handed it back to him. He threw it over his arm. Another howl filled the air.

"I don't understand," he said perplexedly. "There never was a sound at Hogwarts... perhaps the potion isn't as effective taken so soon before..."

She stared at him, her eyes wide with uncertainty and fear. He looked back at her. Abruptly, he said, "I'll stay here in case something happens."

She breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you," she said, "I... I didn't want to be alone, but... it upset you so much, I didn't want to ask you to..."

"It's all right," he said gruffly. "It's late. You should get some sleep."

"You should too," she pointed out. "There's the couch, or my father's room..."

"I'll be fine sitting here," he said.

A scrabbling was heard. Snape darted to the basement door and snapped the lock shut. For a moment, nobody spoke. They heard the Wolf scratch at the door. Snape pulled out his wand, and cast several more complicated Warding and Locking Spells.

"That should do it," he said at last.

There was a bang, as the Wolf threw herself bodily against the door. "I have no idea what went wrong," Snape said. "Either he took it too late, or I made a mistake..."

"I don't think I'll be able to sleep, sir," she said.

"Neither will I," he sighed, sinking into a chair. "What a pity."

The Wolf threw herself at the door again. Both pretended it didn't bother them in the slightest. Snape knew his Wards had once held against a very irate Giant, and he was sure they would hold tonight too. Still, the panic that had seized him earlier proved that when it came to Werewolves, rational thought didn't help much.

"Well," said Snape after a while, "we might as well make the best of it. Has your father got more of that chocolate lying around?"


	15. Moony

**Moony**

Remus tested the door once last time. It would hold. He stared at the window and watched as the sun slowly stained the sky horribly red. He removed his wand from his pocket, setting it carefully on the windowsill where nothing could happen to it.

Suddenly, he heard the door upstairs fly open and someone dash down the stairs. Panicking, Remus backed up and crouched as far from the door as possible. If she came in, there was no telling what could happen. The footsteps flew to the door the bolt flew.

He looked at the sky, terrified. The moon was nearly there. If she came in now, then- but it was Snape. Snape burst into the room. No, thought Remus desperately, not him, not now, not again. "No, Snape," he choked out, "you're too late. Get out. Please. Move."

"Came as fast as I could, Lupin," said Snape, forcing a bottle into Remus' hand. "Drink it quickly while you still have a chance."

Remus grabbed it and gulped the Potion down. He dropped the vial and staggered backwards, feeling the Potion flood his senses. The moon came out bathing the room in light. Remus shuddered as he felt the lunar pull, and the Wolf within clawing to be released.

The Change had begun. Pain invaded his veins. He felt the Wolf rear up within, and slash herself free. He twisted as the Man crumpled, imploding as the Wolf took over. He fell to the floor, and landed on four feet.

Moony blinked in the usual disorientation that immediately followed the Change. She felt the Potion course through her, calming her, reminding her that somewhere inside was a Man, a Man named Remus John Lupin.

She saw a man standing frozen in the doorway. Moony felt the potion wavering, as Remus flickered in and out of her consciousness. The fierce protectiveness within her screamed out that this man was there, and could hurt her child, and her bloodthirsty side added to the urge to maul.

"Don't hurt him," Remus screamed into her mind. "Stop!"

Whether the man could possibly hear Remus inside her head, or whether he had suddenly realized just what she was, Moony wasn't sure. He bolted from the room, and fled up the stairs. Moony caught sight of someone in the doorway waiting for him: her Child!

The door slammed. Remus' thoughts invaded her head once more. "Stop, go back, calm down, it's just the moon..." She pushed him angrily away, despite his protests, letting a loud howl escape her throat. She _had _to get through that door. The man was there... he could hurt her Cub.

Remus came back into her mind, taking command of her body. Preventing her from running towards the stairs, he forced her back into the room, and curled up beneath the window, bathed in the light of the moon.

"Calm," thought Remus, staring at the moon through Moony's eyes. "I've got to remain calm or she'll take over again."

The moon calmed Moony down, slightly. The scent of her Cub was too far off to distract her.

"You are Remus J Lupin," he thought firmly. "You are a Human, not a Wolf. Wait, and it will be over. Just the night... a few hours..."

Her mind forced itself back to the forefront. She growled, snapping at the air. "Wrong," she thought. "Wolf. Wolf I am, and Wolf I remain. When the moon leaves, _Remus _will come back, _he _will take over, force me out... _must _not let him. _Must _get to my Cub, before _he _does."

Desperately, Remus' mind scrabbled for control, but Moony pushed him back and ran up to the door. She scratched at it, trying to find a way through. The smell of her Cub, her Young One was strong. She needed to get through.

Moony let out a howl of despair. Remus fought his way back.

"Down, girl, down. Get away from the stairs... you'll hurt her. You'll hurt Snape. You'll hurt yourself."

She repelled his mind angrily. He had _no _right to be here, until the moon was gone. _Then _he could come, and think his stupid Manthought as much as he pleased. Now, was _her _time, and she _would _get to her Young One.

She threw herself bodily at the door. She was strong and impervious to the pain. Again and again she threw herself at the door. Faintly in the back of her mind she could hear Remus panic, begging her to back down, go back, stop hurting herself. Good, let him panic. _He _lost her Young One so many moons ago, and she _would _get her back.

The Wolf careened against door, using all the strength she possessed. It repelled her, with more force than it ought to have. Power, she knew, must have caused it. _He _was the one with Power; it was _his _fault she could not get through the door. She ran at it again, heedless of the pain, refusing to believe that it was futile.

The door threw her backwards again, slamming her into the wall. Remus clawed his way back into her mind.

"Stop..."

She let him think no further, flinging him out of her head, back where he belonged. She wanted to hurt him as much as possible. How _dare _he prevent her from getting to her Young One? How _dare _he put his Power on the door? How _dare _he try to lock her in? How _dare _he try to control her?

She slammed herself at the door, and again she was flung backwards. This time, the Power didn't throw her as far; just into the desk. Perhaps... perhaps it was weakening. Good. She threw herself at it once more, gathering all her might, only to find herself repelled with a bang.

Kill him, she thought. Must _kill _him. Growling, she spun about, looking for Remus. He was in the room with her, she knew. She saw him nowhere, but somehow she knew he was there. _Knew _he was near.

She howled in confusion and pain. She wanted to kill him, but she couldn't _find _him. Remus pulled himself into control, urging to the window where she could see the moon and be calmed.

Her mind repelled his and then she realized _he _was _inside_. She had to hurt herself to hurt him. A rage filled her such as she had never known. Wildly, she bit, scratched, and clawed at herself, frantically trying to get rid of him.

He remained in the back of her mind, trying to calm her, telling her to stop. This only enraged her further, fearing she would never be free of him. Letting out a fierce howl, she flung herself headfirst at the door, putting all the remaining strength into the blow. The Power repelled her fast and hard, slamming her against the far wall. She fell to the floor. Vaguely she felt Remus' presence swell, before she passed out, and remembered no more.

XXX

Severus grimaced as he heard the Wolf fling herself at the door for the umpteenth time. "Your father is going to have a hell of a headache when he wakes up," he said.

Philomena shuddered. "Is it us? Does he want to get at us, or just out?"

"I don't know," Snape answered grimly, "and I sincerely hope we don't find out."

She gave a sidelong glance at the door. "Can we... can we go somewhere else?" she asked. "I ... don't like it."

"I can't very well leave," he said. "If he gets loose... you can go upstairs if you like."

She shook her head. "I don't want to be alone."

He sighed, and got up. "Come," he said. "We'll go outside."

"But it's cold!"

He smiled mysteriously and held out a hand to her. She hesitated, seeing a blue flame dancing on his palm. His eyes saddened almost imperceptibly when she did not take his hand, so she quickly grabbed it, shuddering only slightly when the Vision hit, hoping he would put it down to her nervousness.

He did not seem to notice her sudden frown or her disquiet as he led her outside. A short way from the cottage he got out his wand and made a zigzaging swish with it. "Circum thermoi convoco."

A green mist flew from his wand, swirling around them, forming a large bubble of warmth. He took off his cloak, and spread it on the ground. "If you please, Ms. Lupin," he said, "be seated." He bowed slightly.

She giggled, and plunked herself down. "Thanks," she said, "this is much better."

"Sadly," he said, "once you cast it, the bubble doesn't move with you. So its useless while traveling."

She looked back at the cottage and sighed. "Will he be all right?"

He squatted next to her. "I doubt it," he answered honestly. "But I'm sure he'll be ... helpable."

"It's snowing," she said.

He looked up, and saw that it was. Thankfully, it wasn't sticking to the ground yet. He watched the snowflakes hit his bubble and melt down the sides for a moment. "It's far too cold for this time of year," he said thoughtfully. "It's only the beginning of October. Hopefully it'll warm for a while before winter really hits."

She smiled sadly, and watched the snow swirl. "It's not a lot," she said. "Just flurries."

He sighed. "Last time it was this cold in October... it was the luckiest year of my life."

"And now?" she asked.

He shook his head. "I'll be lucky if I live until Christmas."

"Why?" she asked startled. The Vision... "What - "

He cut her off with a swift motion of his hand. She quieted and went back to watching the snow. For a moment, neither spoke. At last he said, "I want to tell you a story."

She looked back at him, confused. "A ... story?" she asked.

"Yes. I ... I was out in Muggle London, once, hiding from... never mind that bit. What's important is that I went to a library to pass the time until it was safe to leave. While I was there I found a book. I don't... I don't remember what it was called. But there was a story in it I would like to tell you."

She waited. A howl came from the house and Snape took a deep shuddering breath, and began his story.

"It began in Baghdad, in a garden belonging to the Caliph. The Caliph's favorite page was wandering about the garden, when all of a sudden, he spotted Death. Death frowned at the boy, and he was filled with dread. He ran back to the palace, and begged the Caliph to be allowed to leave the city. When the Caliph learned that Death had been in the garden, and had threatened his favorite, he agreed to let the page borrow his swiftest horse, and ride off to Samarra.

"The Caliph saw his favorite off, and then went out in the garden. Death was still there, and the Caliph said to him, angrily, 'How dare you threaten my favorite?'

"Death answered, 'Threaten? I? Not at all. I frowned in surprise to see him here, for I have an appointment with him in tonight Samarra...'"

Snape trailed off, and smiled sadly to himself.

"I think I understand," Philomena said. "It... It means you can't run away from death."

Severus shook his head. "No," he said, "you can't run. Not from death, not from fate, not from your destiny."

She grimmaced. "I don't believe in fate."

"Odd opinion for a Seer," he commented.

She smiled. "Not really. You see ... I've Seen so many things that didn't come to pass. They were Visions of what _could _have happened. There are so many ways things could happen, so many possibilities... I don't think we have a set path."

"No," he replied, "we don't. But there is a _probable_ path."

She shrugged helplessly and decided not to tell him about the Vision she'd received when he'd taken her hand. She had Seen him falling in a flood of green light. Avada Kedavra. Heard a cry of dismay, heard someone call, "Never mind Snape, Harry! Move!" She shuddered again, resolved to tell her father about it, if he was well enough.

"I'm afraid I might have scared you," he said at last. "I shouldn't have talked like that. It's..."

She nodded. "I know," she said. "It hasn't been a good night for you."

"Hasn't been a good day for any of us," he scoffed.

She shook her head. Another howl filled the air. Philomena shuddered. "Poor father..."

"Your quite fond of him, aren't you?" he asked.

She nodded.

"He'll be all right," he assured.

She laughed shakily. "I didn't think you'd be the type to lie."

He shrugged. "He's a Werewolf. They're remarkably resilient. He'll be a mess in the morning, but it won't take more than a day or two to get him back on his feet."

"I hate Ralf," she said bitterly.

Abruptly he drew his wand. "Finite incantatem."

She blinked at him, and raised an eyebrow. He shrugged.

"It was worth a try anyway," he said sheathing his wand, "not all difficult problems have a difficult solution."

She grimaced. "If it had been that simple, I'd have got myself out of this years ago."

"Do you have a wand?" he asked suddenly.

She shook her head.

"We will have to get you one," he said.

Philomena smiled. "I never needed one," she said.

Snape started. "You've done magic without one?" he asked sharply.

She stretched out a hand. "Engorgio." The bubble Snape had created began to expand. Snape fell backwards when the support left his back, and lay there in amazement, watching as it grew rapidly. "Finite Incantatem." It stopped just short of engulfing the house.

"Merlin," he breathed, "such control without a wand... no one since Grindenwald..."

"I'll take that as a compliment," she said, lowering her hand.

"Ms. Lupin," he said seriously, "that is not an ordinary ability. I think it best if you hide it from all but your most trusted friends."

"You're the only one who knows," she said.

He sat up and stared at her. "Not even your father?"

She looked uncomfortable. "It ... hasn't come up," she hedged.

He raised an eyebrow. "I suppose I can keep my mouth shut," he said.

Philomena shrugged. "You see," she said, "Ralf never would let me have a wand. He had no problem with my learning theory, but... Suffice it to say that I learned on my own."

"Frankly, I'm amazed," said Snape.

"I was just so used to hiding it," she finished, "that I didn't use it. I haven't used it in front of anybody. Ever."

He inclined his head, bowing slightly. "I'm honored."

Philomena yawned, lying back on the cloak.

"It's almost dawn," said Severus. "He'll turn back in an hour or so."

Deciding to show off, she conjured up two pillows, and tossed him one. Snape caught it, and made himself comfortable. He watched silently, as she fell asleep. He grimaced, and stared at the house. There hadn't been a sound for a while.

He watched her for a moment. She looked so young, so helpless, and yet she was so powerful... he would have to figure out that potion. It was best to keep those with power on your good side, after all.


	16. Aftermath and Dreams

**Aftermath and Dreams**

Severus sighed, watching the sunrise. It was a good thing it was a Saturday, he mused idly, or rather, Sunday morning. He could afford sleeping in to make up for his sleepless night. As sunrises went, it wasn't bad. Severus sighed again and realized that it was probably a good idea to get the girl back into the house where she could sleep more comfortably.

He picked her up carefully, so as not to jar her too much. She nearly awoke but subsided after a second. Snape got carefully to his feet, settling her in his arms. He trudged up to the house and, with careful maneuvering, managed to get the door opened without dropping her.

Severus kicked the door shut behind him trying not to be too noisy. He walked tiredly through the kitchen into the living room and up the stairs, finally reaching her room. He set her on the bed, and tucked her in.

"I thought I was done with this sort of thing," he mused. "Never would have guessed I'd end up tucking in eighteen year old girls at three in the morning."

Satisfied that she was comfortable, Severus went back down the stairs to settle himself in the kitchen. Cleaning up was in order. After all, they had left innumerable wrappers lying on every conceivable surface.

Pulling out his Wand, Severus Banished them all. After that there wasn't much to do. He straightened the furniture some and cleaned some teacups left from earlier. He scolded himself for delaying the inevitable but he really didn't want to open that door even though he was sure Lupin had Changed back by this time.

He set his jaw, and drew his wand. First, he took down the wards he'd placed on the door then wrenched the door open, taking a deep breath.

It was not a pretty sight.

Remus lay sprawled in the middle of the floor, his head a bloody mess. Snape walked slowly down the stairs staring at the man. There were gashes on his shoulders and chest, but the main injuries were to his head.

Sucking in a breath, Snape gave his wand a wave. "Mobilicorpus."

Remus' body was levitated a few feet off the ground, and began the eerie float up the stairs. Snape transported him to the couch in the living room, and let him down. Remus didn't make a sound or move in protest. He was out cold.

Severus went to work. First, a few standard spells to stop bleeding, and disinfect wounds. Remus' head lolled back on the cushions, and Snape thought for a moment that he looked like an overly large, overly bloody rag doll.

"Accio Murtlap!"

Severus grimaced, and set about daubing the essence over Lupin's cuts. It fizzed and smoked before settling in, and closing the wounds. Satisfied that Lupin wasn't going to die of loss of blood or infection, Severus cast a quick Reparo on the robes the man was wearing, and set off for home.

He decided that Apparating after not sleeping for over twenty hours was not a good idea, and figured that Lupin wouldn't miss a handful of Floo powder. "Hogwarts, Fireplace Six," he called, and with a roar of green flames he was gone.

He fell from the fireplace in his rooms. Ignoring the indignant cries of the portrait over the mantle, he dragged himself into bed, and finally gave in to sleep. His last conscious thought was, "Thank Merlin it's Sunday."

XXX

Remus awoke feeling as though he'd been hit by the Knight Bus. He groaned and wondered just what Moony had been up to this time.

He tried sitting up and realized quickly that moving was not a good idea. He fell back barely registering the fact that he was not on the lab floor. His head throbbed, his body was sore, and an overall stinging sensation was overwhelming.

"Murtlap," he thought blearily, "Poppy's tried to drown me in it."

He passed out once more, quickly overtaken by a dream...

_He was falling and had been forever. Somehow he knew he would never hit the ground, but he scrabbled for something to hold onto nevertheless._

_"Moony!" called James, from the side of the pit, or whatever it was he was falling into. "Come back! Help me!" _

_Remus kept on falling. He couldn't help. Couldn't move. Couldn't do anything except fall. _

_"Moony!" called Peter, further down. "Help me!"_

_Remus kept on falling, helpless. Guilt invaded his senses, along with grief over the loss of his friends._

_Sirius' face swam into view below him, looking oddly as though it was under water. _

_"Come, Moony," he said. "We'll go on..."_

_Remus splashed into the water but lost no momentum as he continued to fall. Struggling madly, he tried to get back to the surface to breathe, but Sirius took his hand, pulling him further down into the inky blackness. _

_"Let me up, Pads, I can't breathe..."_

_Sirius just laughed at him, and grabbed Remus' hands. "Damned, Moony," laughed Sirius, tugging down, deeper and deeper. "You're damned, damned, damned. Your fault, your fault, your fault. Killed James. Killed Lilly. Killed me. Destroyed Peter. Your fault, Moony. Your fault. Damned!"_

_Remus struggled against Sirius, who merely laughed, laughed in spite of the fact that they were underwater and speaking was impossible. "Damned, damned, damned," laughed Sirius, with an insane grin. "For ever and ever, and ever..."_

_Suddenly, Ralf appeared in the water. Not Ralf himself, but Grizz, his Wolf. Sirius panicked at the site of the Wolf, and swam off, releasing Remus. Remus, free of his captor, tried to struggle towards the surface, towards air, but Grizz bit him savagely._

_Remus Changed. _

_Moony laughed happily, glad to see her Alpha. Ralf swam off into the darkness, and Moony gladly followed. Down, down they went, deeper and deeper into the hellish waters._

_"Damned," came Sirius' insane cackle from behind, "damned, damned, Moony. For ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever..."_

_Ralf was gone suddenly, and Moony was left alone disoriented. There was no up, and no down. No left, and no right. No backwards, no forwards, no inside, no outside. Panicked, she thrashed in the water, struggling to find the normal world, where up was up, and down was down. Where left was left, and right was right. Where forwards, backwards, inside and outside existed._

_A wave rolled forwards, and became Philomena, running towards her. The water rolled and became a sea of grass, rippling in the wind. Moony Changed, and was Remus once again. He ran towards his child, his salvation._

_They were running toward each other, but surreally they found themselves further and further apart. The faster Remus ran, the slower he became. A hand grabbed his shoulder, and began to shake him. He turned, and saw Snape._

_"Damned Beast, you are," said Snape "You don't deserve happiness. Ever. Damned, damned, damned. Killer. Savage. Animal."_

_Philomena was gone, beyond the horizon. Remus pulled against Snape's death grip. "Let me go," he begged. "I want..."_

_"We can't have what we want, Remus," said Snape, morphing into Dumbledore. "The world is not rational. There are no rules, and no natural order. If we want justice, government, peace, or civilization, we must create them ourselves. They do not grow naturally. Men are beasts until they are educated. Until they learn to love."_

_"Let me go," pleaded Remus, pulling against Dumbledore. "Philomena..."_

_"Mine," snarled Dumbledore as he melted into Ralf. "She is mine, do you hear that? I educated her, nurtured her. I brought her up. She dances to my tunes. She will never be what you want her to be. She will never love you. She is mine. Mine."_

_Ralf became Remus' mother, and pulled upwards. She sprouted wings, and Remus found himself floating into the clouds. "Remus, my baby," she crooned, "my love, my heart."_

_Delirious with happiness, Remus allowed himself to be drawn higher and higher. "Beast," she suddenly snarled. "No child of mine. Werewolf. Monster. Killer."_

_She let go, and Remus found himself falling once more. Falling impossibly slowly through the clouds to the earth below. Voices assaulted him from all sides. "Damned." "Monster." "Traitor." "Beast."_

_Hands came from nowhere, grabbing at him, squabbling over him. "My Dam." "My friend." "Mine to torture." "My informant." "My teacher." "My child." "Mine to try, to prosecute, and to condemn." "Mine to punish."_

_Hands grabbed at his shoulders, and shook him. _

"Up," commanded a voice.

_"No," protested Remus, "down... going down... falling."_

"Up," said the voice again. "Wake UP."

Remus blinked, and found himself staring into his daughter's eyes.

"You're having a nightmare," she said.

Remus tried to sit up. Her hands on his shoulders pushed him back down.

"No," she insisted. "You need to rest. You've had a bad night."

Coming to himself, he shook off the remnants of his nightmare, and brushed an arm over his forehead to wipe off the cold sweat that had broken out.

"I'm alive," he told himself firmly. "I'm at home. There is no James, no Sirius, no Lily, no Mum, no Peter..."

She let go of him. "You were screaming," she said. "About falling. Are you... are you all right?"

"Are _you_ all right?" he asked. His voice was raspy, and he thought dazedly that he must have been screaming very loudly indeed.

"Never better," she said dryly.

Again he tried to sit up, only to be given the sternest glare he'd seen on the face of one other than Poppy or Snape. "Did you bring me upstairs?" he asked.

"No," she said. "You were here when I woke up. Snape must have done it."

He groaned. "All I ever wanted. Snape to see me after a Change."

"Do you... remember anything?" she asked delicately.

Remus thought back. Falling, screaming... pain... panic, rage, pain. "Nothing concrete," he said at last. "Why? What happened?"

"The Potion didn't work," she said simply. "You spent the night banging yourself against the basement door.

He put a hand to his head. Merlin, he thought, it did have a reason to throb so. It was covered in bruises and from the feel of it they'd been expertly tended to, ulsing with healing Magic. "Who...?"

"Snape," she said again, "before I woke up. The Murtlap was still on the table. I purified what was left of it, and put it away. I've also cleaned up the lab."

"What time is it?"

"Nearly one," she said. "I wouldn't have woken you up, but you started to scream..."

"Thank you," he said quietly.

She grimaced at the sound of his raspy voice. "I'll bring you some tea," she said, "with honey. Stay put."

As soon as she left the room Remus tried to sit up, and realized immediately that yes, she did have a point. He was terribly dizzy. Bringing a hand up, he felt his bruises again. "Concussion," he thought to himself, "must have hit it pretty hard."

He slumped back against the cushions. Soft noises from the kitchen came through the door, as he listened to her puttering about. "Not Ralf's," he thought desperately. "Can't be."

Sleep assaulted his eyelids, and his consciousness. It would be so easy to let go, to slip back into the darkness, the void, the constant falling. He struggled to keep his eyes open, to stay alert, conscious, awake.

_"Murderer." "Killer." "Monster."_

Remus fought against the darkness, gripping the edge of the couch. "Stop..." he pleaded in a fierce whisper, "stop..."

The darkness engulfed him, and he was falling once more.

_"Coward," came Lily's voice. "Too afraid of losing him to turn him in, were you? Coward. Killer. How could you?"_

"_Unfit to live. Unfit to be around decent human beings. Unfit to teach. Unfit to fight. Unfit for - __"_

"Tea."_  
_

_"Unfit fr tea?" Remus asked. "Why?"_

"For your throat."

Philomena swam into his vision. "You had better keep awake," she said, "if sleeping causes you dreams like that. You'll hurt yourself."

He blinked.

She drew a shuddering breath. "You were clawing at your eyes."

Philomena set a tray down on the side table, and poured out a cup. He watched as she dribbled the honey into it. The honey oozed out of the pitcher, swirling into the tea, before settling at the bottom. She stirred it, and held it out to him. Her hands were shaking slightly.

He pushed himself into a semi upright position against the cushions, and took it. "I... what happened?" he asked again.

She sighed. "The potion didn't work. Snape locked you into the basement. You kept... throwing yourself at the door, so he warded it just in case. He stayed with me, because I was scared."

Remus sipped his tea. "I'm sorry, " he began, "but..."

"It's all right," she said standing. "Wasn't your fault."

He shook his head as small pieces of memory came back to him of the night. "Shouldn't have let him," he said. "I knew it was too late..."

"Drink up," she said firmly. "There was a chance, however slim, that it might have worked. He took it. And when it didn't work, he dealt with the fallout, and minimized the damage. It's over. Nobody has suffered any lasting damage. No reason to say sorry, or regret anything."

Remus shut his eyes.

"Drink the lot," she said. "I'll see if I can find some Dreamless Sleep somewhere."

"It's in the bathroom," Remus told her hoarsely, watching her leave.

"Merlin," he thought to himself. "She IS like my mother."


	17. Earth, Ink and Blood

**Earth, Ink, and Blood**

Severus awoke well rested. For the first time in months he'd had a night of deep dreamless sleep. He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. The light from the windows threw a grid-like pattern on it, and Snape thought it was pretty.

"Not getting up," thought Snape, burrowing deeper beneath the covers. "Never getting up, ever again. Going to spend the rest of my life in bed. Forever and ever."

Severus smiled to himself. "And the Dark Lord will come, and say, 'Severus, you barmy fool. Get out of bed and kill some Muggles!' And I'll say, 'Leave me alone, you power hungry bastard, I'm sleeping!' and so he'll sigh, and go away."

He watched the patterns on his ceiling flicker. "And then Dumbledore will stick his nose into things, and say, 'But, Severus, you _can't _stay in bed. You have students, and spying, and potions...' and I'll say, 'leave me alone you twinkle eyed bastard, I'm sleeping!". He'll offer me a sherbet, but I'll be sleeping, so he'll leave."

A knock came on the door. A knock which said, clearly, "I really don't want to knock right now, I wish I were a million miles away, but I have to see Professor Snape, because I'll be in deep trouble if I don't." _Potter._

"Damnit," muttered Severus, pulling himself out of bed. "And when Harry Blooming Potter walks in, I'll jump up and say, 'Welcome, anything you say. I wasn't asleep. This isn't inconveniencing me in the slightest."

He threw a bathrobe over his nightshirt and shuffled into his slippers. He blinked at his clock. Noon. No wonder the boy thought it would be all right to say hello. Well, Mr. Potter was in for a surprise.

"Yes, coming," called Severus exasperatedly, as another knock sounded.

He stumbled out of his bedroom, and slammed the door shut. Crossing his sitting room quickly, and threw the door open to reveal Potter in all his impatient magnificence.

Harry looked pensive. "Sir, I'm sorry for disturbing you, but I have to tell you something."

Snape interrupted the boy with a glare. "Come in out of that drafty hallway before somebody sees you, Potter," he snapped. "I've half a mind to take points."

Harry squatted beside the couch. "It's... I've had a dream."

"So did I, about a minute ago," groused Snape. "It was very nice."

Harry didn't seem to hear him but rattled on. "It was more of a Vision. A Vision about you. I normally tell Dumbledore about these things, but I thought, that since it was you, you ought to know first... and..."

"About... me?"

"Yes. It was... blood." Harry struggled to explain, gesturing vaguely with his hands in front of him. "You were... and Voldemort was... that is to say, the _blood_ was..."

"Mr. Potter," snapped Snape. "If you must relate your daydreams to me, kindly do so coherently at a decent time of day."

"I...it's hard to explain," said Harry. "I don't rightly understand what I saw. It was very disturbing, though. I think you'd understand it, since it was about you in the first place."

"What exactly did you see?" asked Snape, interested now. The blood was, perhaps, something of what Voldemort had gathered for his 'masterpiece.' Perhaps, this 'dream,' held the answer...

"That's just it, sir." The boy was desperately mangling his fingers together. "I don't know! I know it was about you. But that's all. I don't understand any of it. I was going to keep my mouth shut about it when it happened last week because I didn't understand it, and I wasn't sure it wasn't just a nightmare, but it's happened again, and now it got even more vivid..."

"_What_ got more vivid?" asked Severus in exasperation.

"The dream, vision, whatever you want to call it. It... wasn't like anything that could have actually happened..."

"Perhaps," said Severus, "if you could... show me what happened."

"Show you?" The boy was bewildered, and showed it.

Damnit, thought Snape, would the boy never learn to control his face? He was as readable from twenty paces even without Legilimency.

Severus arose, and shuffled to a cabinet. He unlocked it, and brought out a stone bowl, which seemed oddly familiar to Harry. Harry blinked and jumped up. Snape, _Professor Snape_, was in his _pajamas_! Sweet Merlin, wonders would never cease.

"Er..." said Harry, "Professor... did I ... wake you?"

"You did," said Snape, setting the Pensieve down. "One word about my being in bed at this hour, and I will personally see to it that-"

"That what?" demanded his student. "That I'm expelled? That Dumbledore knows I've been learning things I shouldn't? That he finds out I've got a dozen illegal books in my bag? Books from _you?_"

Snape grinned predatorily. "No," he said, "but I will see to it that Ms. Granger finds out..."

Harry blanched. "She'd kill me," he whispered.

"Now," said Snape, back to business, "put your wand to your temple. Concentrate deeply on the memory of the Vision. Use your wand to grasp it, and pull it out of your head into the bowl. Please don't drip on my carpet. The stains are dreadful and the Restorative Spells give me a headache."

Harry nodded once getting out his wand. He took a deep breath and put it to his temple concentrating on what had just happened in the Common Room. Magic clawed into his brain, grabbing hold. Harry pulled down his wand, swishing it over the Pensieve.

The silver thread of thought fell with a sickening sort of "flimoosh," into the bowl. Harry watched it swirl, adding to whatever thoughts Snape had left there.

"Odd," he thought to himself. He could remember that he'd had a dream and that he'd come to Snape about it. He could remember that he'd put the memory of that dream in the bowl, but for the life of him he couldn't remember just _what _that dream had been.

Snape rolled up his sleeves, got out his own wand, and touched the surface of the Pensieve with it. Harry watched in rapt fascination as Snape seemed to split into two Snapes, like the diagrams of cell division he'd seen in Muggle Science class. The original Snape stayed stock still where he was holding his wand to the Pensieve. Snape number two, who was slightly transparent, was pulled into the bowl with a schloop and disappeared.

Harry blinked. So that was what it looked like when seen from the outside. He remembered being pulled into Dumbledore's Pensieve, and had always wondered how people had known where he was. Apparently, his body had remained standing there looking slightly foolish, while his mind had gone skinny-dipping.

Snape felt himself being pulled into the Pensieve. He found himself in the Gryffindor Common Room. The Potter Boy and Weasley Number Six where playing chess. Snape sighed. The idiot hadn't cut off the memory correctly. He'd have to wait until Potter fell asleep to get to the dream he'd been woken up for.

"So," said Weasley, "if you move your knight there, I'll just bring my queen up there and take it. Then, you'll be stupid, and take my queen and I'll move in with my knight, and take your bishop. You'll retaliate and take _my_ bishop, which will leave me free to checkmate you. So why don't you give up now, and admit that I've won?"

Potter shrugged. "But what if I do _this?_"

Snape never did figure out just what "_this" _had been, since Potter suddenly stiffened in his seat. Weasley jumped up and ran around the table. "You all right, mate?" he asked. "What-"

Potter let out a hacking cry of pain, and threw his head back against the edge of the chair. "Damnit!" cursed Weasley, dithering between running for help, and staying to make sure his friend was all right. Snape was sorely tempted to take points for language.

Severus let out an involuntary cry as he suddenly found himself in Potter's dreamscape. Tom Riddle was running through an open field, his arms out as though flying. The sky was threatening rain, and lightning flickered. Magical energy crackled. Snape pursed his eyebrows in concentration. Why, if this was a vision of the future, was the Dark Lord in his original form?

He knew also, that Pensieves caused a disjointed third person perspective. The only other person in the dreamscape was Riddle, meaning that originally, Harry's dream had been seen through his eyes. _Why?_

Thunder rolled, and lightning, green lightning, struck Riddle. Riddle crumpled to the grass, in a heap of red robes. Snape saw himself come out of nowhere and run towards the boy.

"Master," he heard himself say, kneeling and cradling Riddle's head. "Master... I told you, the blood was not strong enough..."

Riddle's body melted in his arms, becoming a pool of ink. Snape saw himself run his fingers through the black liquid. It began to rain, and the ink began to sink into the earth. Potter's hands fought up from the center of the puddle, and gradually the boy emerged from the earth itself.

"Professor... the blood... the earth... the power..." Potter grabbed hold of Snape and pulled him down into the ink.

Snape watched in horror, as his dream self fell and melted into a bloody mess dripping through Potter's fingers. Harry screamed, and scuttled backwards, as though Snape's blood has burned him.

The blood and the ink swirled in a puddle of Magically crackling _essence. _Thunder rolled, and another bolt of lightning, green lightning, struck the blood- and rebounded into the sky with a horrid crackle.

The blood and the ink, still swirling in impossible patterns rose up from the earth, and formed a solid wall, encasing Potter in a swirling mass of _something. _Potter beat his fists ineffectually against the wall, as it forced him down, back into the earth. As soon as Potter had been ground into the earth, the wall became liquid once more, and dissolved in the rain.

Thunder rolled and Snape found himself thrown into an underground cavern. Potter was lying on a block of solid marble; arms crossed over his breast, his face the serene mask of death. He was wrapped in robes of blinding white and a nearly transparent cloth covered him from head to foot.

Echoes filled the room, in a confusing jumble of sound.

_Safe, he's safe as can be safe,_ he's safe as can be safe_, he's safe as can be_ _you know. He's lived, once more. Suspended animation, _Remus, you know what that means! _Poppy! It's Severus- he's been killed, but he's not dead. _Tom?_ Professor? Potter's dead you know. He's lived, once more. Triumph_. Defeat_. Safe, he's safe as he can be safe as he can be _safe..._ safe... _Avada Kedavra_! Potter's dead you know. _He's lived, once more. _Snape, take the charm! _Tom? _Snape, take the charm!_ Snape, take the charm!_ Triumph. _Defeat._ Avada Kedavra! _Blood magic is as dark as it getsAvada Kedavra! _Blood magic is as dark as it__gets_. Blood magic is as dark as it gets. _Tom? But, Dumbledore, if Voldemort has my blood... _you know._ He's lived, once more. _But, Dumbledore, if Avada Kedavra! _Voldemort has my blood..._ Potter's dead you know._ He's lived, once more. Triumph._ _Defeat. But, Dumbledore, if Voldemort has my blood... _Freak! I'll not have you in my house!_ Avada Kedavra! Suspended animation, Remus, you know what that means! Poppy! _It's Severus- he's been killed, but he's not dead_. Tom? _Professor? _Potter's dead you know. He's lived, once more. _Triumph. Defeat._ Safe, he's safe as he can be safe as he can be safe..._ safe... _Avada Kedavra! _

The jumble of whispers from different voices was overwhelming. Time and time again, Snape thought he recognized a voice, or a phrase from something he knew, but it was like trying to recognize snowflakes while they where falling.

_Suspended animation, Remus, you know what that means! _Poppy! It's Severus- he's been killed, but he's not dead. Tom? Professor?_ Potter's dead you know. _He's lived, once more. _Triumph_. Defeat_. Safe, he's safe as he can be _safe as he can be safe... safe... _Avada Kedavra!_

Shadows flitted through the room throwing light and dark patterns on the boy's motionless face. Even his hair seemed for once to have no movement in it. Potter's glasses were nowhere to be seen, nor was his wand in sight.

_Severus- he's been killed, but he's not dead. _Tom? Professor? Potter's dead you know. _He's lived, once more. Triumph. _Defeat. Safe, he's safe as he can be safe as he can be _safe... safe... _Avada Kedavra! _Potter's dead you know. He's lived, once more._

The whispers became louder, more insistent, and the shadows darker and more demanding. Whispers became a cacophony of cries and yells. Shadows triumphed and the room was plunged into absolute darkness. Yells culminated into a shriek of profound despair. The darkness was oppressive, as though the shadows had taken on physical form and filling the room to suffocate whatever life was left from the body laid out on the tomb.

Suddenly, a blinding white light filled the room as the boy began to glow. His body levitated up from the slab and hovered in midair, growing brighter and brighter until Severus found himself back in Hogwarts, where Harry Potter was blinking at the bright lights of the common room.

"Are you all right?" asked Weasley, seeing that Harry was back with him.

"It's nothing," said Potter, getting up and moving quickly to the door. "I have to speak to Dumbledore. I'll tell you later. Not a word to a soul."

The memory was over and Severus felt himself floating back up, out of the silver pudding of Potter's thought. He came back to himself, as though thrown to the floor and pulled his wand away from the bowl with a jerk.

He turned to stare into the eyes of the Boy Who Lived. For a moment he was at a loss for what to say.

"Well?" asked Harry. "Have you any idea what it could mean?"

"You'd better get your memory back before I try and tell you about it," groused Snape. "Get it out of my Pensieve. I won't have it contaminating my childhood dreams."

"Er... how?" asked Potter.

Snape sighed. "Place your wand in the bowl, concentrating on the void where the memory ought to be. Grab it, and draw it back out of the bowl, pull it back into your mind."

Potter did as he was told, grimacing as the memory filtered through his brain. His eyes widened as he remembered what he'd seen. He stared back at Snape and asked, "Do you have any idea what it means?"

Snape thought back to the blood he had given the Dark Lord. He remembered filtering through Dolohov's mind to find out that the man had been given charge of his blood, along with Rastaban. He mentally ran through all he knew about Blood Magic, and the myriad of things that could go wrong. But mostly, he thought of the way Potter had looked so triumphant on his bier, although at the same time irredeemably dead.

"No," he lied. "It tells me nothing whatsoever."

Potter's face fell, and he hunched his shoulders, looking at the floor. "I'm ... I'm sorry for waking you up for nothing, then," he said. "It must just have been an odd dream..."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "In the middle of the afternoon?"

"It wouldn't be the first time," the boy muttered. "I haven't been sleeping very well lately. I've dropped off at stranger hours."

Snape frowned. "We can't have you dropping off to sleep in the middle of your annual face off with the Dark Lord, now, can we? Are you fighting sleep? To escape the dreams?"

Potter avoided his gaze. "I... I try to sleep, honestly, professor. It's just that..."

"As soon as you close your eyes you see the destruction and death on your eyelids," said Snape softly. "Yes, I know."

Potter looked up, startled. "That sounded almost... poetic."

Snape glared as if to say that the next time Potter mentioned poetry and his Potions Professor in the same sentence it would be slow and painful death by mortar and pestle. "I can get you some Dreamless Sleep," he mused. "It wouldn't help against those dreams and visions sent by your connection to the Dark Lord, though it would block out the rest."

Harry nodded. "And if I knew Occlumency well enough, I'd be able to block those, too," he said sadly.

Snape smiled nastily. "We shall see about _that _tomorrow, Potter. Get back to your dormitory. I want to accomplish _something _before the day is quite over."


	18. A Father

**A Father**

Severus was working, surprisingly enough, at his official job. He was grading a nasty pop quiz he'd given his third years. "Not for you, My Lord," sighed Severus. "And not for you, Oh Mighty Albus the Conqueror, but for you, Gentlemen of the School board."

Severus dipped his quill in red ink. He made half a circle. Staring at it, he wondered what the world had come to. A sigh escaped him, as he made another half circle, joining the first. He contemplated what he'd just done: He'd given a Hufflepuff the only O.

"Can't be helped," he said to himself. "The Gryffindors and the Slytherins were concentrating on their upcoming Quidditch match, the Ravenclaws... Merlin knows what took _their _concentration. Yes... they'd had Astronomy the night before. Tired out of their minds, no doubt. And so, Hufflepuff conquers all."

He pushed the offending paper to the side, and put his head in his hands. Out of twenty-one Hufflepuffs, thirty-four Ravenclaws, twenty-six Gryffindors and forty Slytherin, only one O, and it had to go to a Hufflepuff. He would have to give them all a talking to, especially young Harold. If anybody of that year's batch had a remote possibility of ever becoming a master, it was him.

"Stupid boy," he grumbled. "You'll ruin my reputation. I _can't _favor a Hufflepuff."

The roar of his Floo interrupted him. "Yes, Albus," he called. "Be there in a moment." Hopefully, Potter hadn't gone and told the Headmaster that Severus had been in his pajamas at noon. If he had, Severus was going to throttle him...

As luck would have it, throttling the Savior was not in order: It was Philomena.

"Ah," he said, "Ms. Moony. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Severus sank down cross-legged before the hearth.

"I'm sorry to intrude, sir," she said, "but I just received this in the mail. From my Uncle."

She handed him a fairly large bottle. "I should have realized before that he would send me more," she sighed. "After all, he thinks Remus is too stupid to realize there's something wrong."

Severus took it. "Wonderful," he said. "I have been giving the matter some thought, but frankly, it's that much easier to discover a counter Potion, when you have the original. Thank you."

"Oh," remarked Philomena, "I should be thanking you. For helping me. And... and for what you did for my father."

"You didn't tell him, I hope," he said, thinking uncomfortably of his panic attack.

"Of course not," she said. "I promised, did I not? Besides, he isn't in a condition to be talked to. He slept a good deal this morning, which is understandable, but then he had such horrific nightmares, that I gave him Dreamless Sleep. He's sleeping like a baby now."

Snape sighed and hefted the bottle in his hands. "Last time I made something for you, I didn't bother to test you before hand, because an allergic reaction was nearly impossible, considering that you were a Seer, and immune to the negative effects of most of the ingredients. However, you now have completely unique blood in your veins. Frankly, that throws a whole new variable into anything I might create. I will have to have a sample from you, so that I can make sure that nothing goes horribly wrong."

She grimaced. "I'll send you a bit," she said. "If you give me a few minutes to get it. Ralf did ask for one. I... frankly, I don't know how to get out of it."

"Don't send it," said Snape immediately. "I'll think of something."

"I ... don't tell father will you?" she asked. "When he's well, I mean. I don't want to worry him, and he's got so much on his mind already, what with all the wards the committee has him working on..."

"What your father doesn't know won't hurt him," said Snape. "I trust your Uncle sent you the usual instrument for the sample?"

She nodded.

"Good. Fill it a third, and get me the result. In the meantime, I'll find something to send back to Ralf that'll allay his suspicions."

"Yes, sir," she said, "and thank you again."

"My pleasure," he said dryly.

She smiled, and with a roar of green flames she was gone.

Severus hefted the bottle in his hands, and sniffed at it cautiously. Frowning, he left his office, and hurried into his lab. He placed it on his workbench, and cast an eye out for the remaining Kalgra blood he'd taken to make her first Potion.

Quickly, he filled a blood taking instrument with it, grimacing as he did so, remembering how he'd wished he'd had one on him when the Dark Lord had demanded a sample. As he did so, his gaze fell upon a jar he'd forgotten in all that had happened: The Nundu's Breath. He would have to have that taken care of, he thought, before something horrid exploded in the lab, causing the jar to break and release its contents, which could wipe out the entire student body of Hogwarts...

Filing "Give Nundu's Breath to Albus," in his extensive To Do list, he hurried back into his office. "The Kalgra blood is Seer enough to fool the man," he muttered, "or at least I hope so. Merlin knows he won't test it on himself. Probably won't test it at all, if I know their operation. Not a decent price in the shop, and half the products of dubious quality..."

While he waited for her return, he quickly recorded the students' grades in his records book, and again in the reports he would have to file to Albus and Minerva. "Damnable Hufflepuff," he muttered again. "How _did _you learn so well?"

The Floo roared to life again, as Philomena's head popped back in. "Oh, do come in all the way," he grumbled. "I have an aversion to talking to disembodied heads."

She smirked, and ducked out of his fireplace. A moment later, she whirled in all the way. Descending onto his hearth with a grace that was forbidden by the gods of Floo travel, she entered the room.

"Sit down, please," he said. "And tell me, just what did this Uncle of yours write you?"

Philomena sighed. "Oh, the usual: Give me your blood, take your Potion, and Floo over to the usual place to have the Spells done tomorrow at six..."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "And you plan to avoid this meeting how?"

She shrugged. "I'll just have to go, won't I?" she said. "Unless somebody has a better idea. I don't want to worry father with it, seeing as he's taking the Moon so badly."

He grimaced. "He shouldn't be," he mused. "I can't imagine what went wrong with that Potion, but perhaps if I'd been a bit more alert..."

"Nothing permanently damaging happened," she said firmly. "At least, nothing that I can see now. It wasn't your fault. Don't torture yourself over it. Good Lord, do I have to spend all day soothing the insecurities of you two?" He raised an eyebrow.

She looked sheepishly back at him. "I'm sorry for snapping," she said. "It's just that father was going on for a good age about how sorry he was, and how much it'd been his fault before I got him to calm down and drink some tea."

"Back to your Uncle," Severus said. "Give him this. It's Kalgra, and probably Seer enough for any tests he gives it."

She took the bottle with a small shudder, and handed him her own.

"I'm sorry I had to ask for it," he sighed. "I hated using them as a child. Still can't abide needles."

"You too?"

He nodded. "Nothing you need to know. As to your little appointment... miss it. Tell me the usual place, and I'll handle things from there."

She blinked. "But what will you...?" She trailed off, not finishing the question on account of the glare he'd sent her.

"Now," he said, "I'll take a look into this Potion and see what I can do. You get back to your ailing mother, before he figures out you're gone, or somebody comes by and demands to know what the bloody hell you're doing in my office."

She gasped. "You knew?"

He stiffened. Damnit. He'd forgotten she wasn't supposed to know about the circumstances of her birth. "I knew it," he thought to himself, "I _knew _my sarcasm would get me into trouble one day..."

"Yes," he said, "he told me, but..."

She stared at him, starting to smile slightly. "You didn't know I knew, did you?"

He shook his head.

"Ralf's Pensieve had some rather nasty and disturbing little bits of family history in it," she said. "And I'd rather not go into that. Still, it's funny to think that I have, in effect, two fathers."

"No," he said. "A Sire and a Dam."

She giggled. "A Dam-Father. Sounds horridly like I'm swearing, doesn't it?"

"Your dam-father had better take better care of you than your other damned father did," he said, breaking into a grin.

"You horrible man," she laughed. "I won't be able to look him in the face now _forever. _I'll just think "dam-father," whenever I see him. I won't be able to be respectful at _all._"

"If your dam-father asks," he said, "tell him you came here for a Potions lesson."

She was still giggling. "If you teach me," she said, "as a private tutor, you sponsor me, so to speak, which makes you my patron. And a patron is sort of a parent, which would make you my _third _father..."

A flash of inspiration struck Severus. Far better than a foolish joke, this was something he could cash in on, in his plan to fool the Order. If, when she was restored to her proper form, and she was introduced to the Order, she called Severus by some ridiculous pet name they would the better fall into his trap.

"So many fathers," he said, keeping his tone carefully light, "however will you tell them apart?"

"Well," she said, "Ralf is my damned father, and Remus is my dam-father, and you...?"

"Just call me Daddy," said Severus sarcastically.

As he'd planned, she took to the idea at once, thinking it would irk him. "Daddy," she teased.

Severus smiled to himself. If there was one thing the Marauders had taught him, it was that the more one objected to a nickname, the more it stuck.

"Don't call me that," he snapped. "It's most improper."

"Yes, Daddy," she smirked, getting off the couch. "Wouldn't dream of it."

He frowned at her in his most intimidating mean. "Good bye, Daddy," she said, taking a handful of Floo powder, "you must get back to your work, and I to my dam-father."

Severus took a deep breath, taking care to look as though he was trying to keep his temper in check, when, in reality, he was happy that his makeshift plan had worked. "If you experience symptoms of withdrawal, such as crankiness or headaches, see me immediately," he ordered. "Not a word to your dam-father about what just happened, you know how he feels about Blood Magic. I'll Owl or Floo when I've any results worth speaking of. Good day."

"Good day, _Daddy!" _With that last taunting laugh, she disappeared into the flames, calling "Remus John Lupin's Cottage."


	19. The Headmaster

**The Headmaster**

Snape scowled at his Ingremeter. It was taking far longer than usual to analyze the Potion sample he'd given it. Normally, he would give it an ounce or two, and have a neatly written ingredients list a minute later. It had been nearly half an hour.

"What's _wrong _with the blasted thing?" he muttered.

He checked it for the dozenth time. Yes, the instrument was well oiled. Yes, it had plenty of Energy. Yes, it was switched on. No, it wouldn't give him a reading.

Suddenly, the door to his lab creaked open. Albus strode into the room. "Good morning, Severus."

"It is afternoon, Albus," said Severus shortly.

"Well, my boy," said Albus, "you didn't show at breakfast, or lunch, so I simply figured you were asleep. Have you anything to report?"

Severus sighed. He kept fiddling with the Ingremeter, playing for a bit of time to think. Albus apparently thought his late night scramble to get Remus his Wolfsbane had been a Death Eater meeting. Not that there hadn't been one right before that, but there hadn't really been anything said. Simply a check for loyalty, as usual.

"As a matter of fact," said Severus carefully, "I have a good deal to report."

"Would you like to come up to my office?"

Severus shook his head and continued to fiddle with the Ingremeter.

Albus smiled. "If it isn't giving you a reading, it could be because the potion is under an Incognito. A simple Finite Incantatem ought to alleviate the problem."

Severus groaned and restrained himself from hitting his head against the wall. Wordlessly he removed the Potion from the machine, cast the Charm, and poured it back. He flicked the switch. The instrument began to hum.

"I assume, of course," said Dumbledore, "that you missed meals for something other than a mad desire to loose weight."

Severus grabbed the reading as it emerged from the machine and quickly pocketed it before Dumbledore had a chance to look over his shoulder.

"I'll be right back," he said, before disappearing into the back room of his lab. He returned momentarily carefully cradling the glass jar of Nundu's breath.

"I've recovered this," he said shortly, handing it over.

Dumbledore curiously began to open the lid, but Severus flew over to his side with a cry of horror. "Don't open it!"

Albus looked up in alarm. "It's Nundu's breath," explained Severus quickly. "It could wipe out the whole school if you do that."

The Headmaster paled and stared at the flimsy jar in his hands with a respectful horror, before gingerly placing it a nearby desk.

"He wanted it used on Diagon Alley," lied Severus. "Using one of his unmarked junior expendables to release it. I've Obliviated the poor lad, and sent him too some friends for safety."

"Is he... likely to obtain more?" asked Dumbledore.

Severus restrained himself from smirking. Keeping his face carefully set on 'concerned,' he replied, "I doubt it. It is extremely difficult to obtain without dying, and the species has been nearly eradicated. It was an accident, sheer serendipity that this specimen was obtained. He isn't interested in procuring more, simply extremely agitated that it didn't work."

"Is he looking at other avenues of mass killing?"

"He's a Dark Wizard," said Severus dryly. "That's does happen to be his specialty."

"I'll have to find a place to keep this safe," mused Dumbledore. "Perhaps Gringotts..."

"We both know what good that did us last time," said Severus.

"And forbidding corridors to students practically guarantees that they'll go into them," said Dumbledore. "The only places they fear or cannot access are your quarters, your lab, and the Chamber of Secrets."

"Do you really think it's a good idea to have Potter get involved in this?" asked Severus. "If you tell that boy 'don't open this jar,' it's the first thing he'll do. Especially since you have a strange habit of not telling him the whole truth."

Dumbledore sighed deeply. "I am an old man," he said, "and I make mistakes."

Severus sighed. "Headmaster," he said, "If you warded your office properly, we could keep it there."

"Why not here?" asked Albus. "Your quarters are about as attractive as a torture chamber as far as the students are concerned, and for most of the staff."

"Might I remind you that I teach that infernal child Occlumency in my rooms?" snarled Severus. "That usually involves a great deal of my possessions being broken or damaged in his usual temper fits."

Albus closed his eyes and sighed as he usually did when presented with a problem he did not wish to deal with.

"Yes, I know," said Severus. "There's no other safe place to teach him and I'll just have to Repairo everything. Unfortunately, this can't _be _repaired if broken. I would hate to have to explain the Boy Who Lived's death by plague to the Dark Lord, though, I suppose, I wouldn't have to, being dead myself. I suppose you'd have a jolly time of it explaining the death of your entire student body, and perhaps half of Hogsmead, to Rita Skeeter?"

Albus drew his eyebrows together. "We'll have to find somewhere safe to keep it," he said. "And you know very well I keep my office un-Warded except for a password for the convenience of certain members of the staff who occasionally have to get into it when on the verge of collapse."

"I suggest, then," said Snape, "we bring it along to the next Order meeting. Somebody there must have a secure location, or we can simply secure it at Grimmauld place."

"That is," said Dumbledore dangerously, "if certain members don't let in strange people to get other members killed."

Snape's anger flared, and he allowed it to show. "Might I remind you, Albus," he said with enough venom in his voice to take the paint off a house at twenty paces, "that the place is under _Fidelius! _If anybody 'let' him in, it had to have been _you._"

"Fidelius _can_ be broken!" shouted Dumbledore. "By whatever means Voldemort used last time!"

"For the last time, Dumbledore," Snape said with forced calm, his anger radiating from him in silent waves. "Peter Pettigrew _betrayed_ the Potters. There was _no_ Magical breakthrough on the Dark Lord's part. Pettigrew was _not_ cursed. He was _not_ and _is _not under Imperius. He was _not_ forced. He betrayed you of his_ own free will!_"

Dumbledore's last vestige of twinkle left his eyes. "Peter would never," he said. "How far does you hate go, Severus? The man has been in hiding for years. What more can you want?"

"Peter _did_," returned Severus. "How far will your trust go? He's been helping the Dark Lord for years. What more proof can you want? He cut off his _right hand _to raise the Dark Lord from the dead!"

"Where would you be if I didn't have trust?" asked Dumbledore. "Where would Hagrid be? Where would Alastor be?"

"I don't know, Albus," answered Snape heavily. "But I do know this. Blind trust leads men into strange places, none of them good. I admit I don't understand your reasoning. You trust Peter. You trusted Crouch. You don't trust me."

"I do trust you, Severus," protested Dumbledore.

"Might I remind you, Headmaster," said Snape wearily, "that you have just accused me of betraying the Order, lying to you for years, and hiding a Magical breakthrough of immense proportions?"

"I'm not blind," insisted Dumbledore.

"Just selectively," Severus muttered under his breath.

Dumbledore was about to reply, when an owl swooped into the room, through the specialty wards on the ceiling, and deposited a neat scroll tied with red ribbon at Severus' feet. Albus reached for it, but Severus was quicker. He untied it, tossed the ribbon aside and shook it open.

_ Daddy,_

_Back room of Leaky Cauldron. Tell the Bartender you would like to hear some fiddle music. He will let you in._

_They will expect me in about an hour's time. Usually two men, both blond, and relatively short._

_Philomena._

Snape tucked the paper into his pocket and grabbed his wand from a side table. "I have to go, be back at dinner."

Without another word, he grabbed a handful of Floo powder, tossed it into the flames and stepped in. "Diagon Alley!"


	20. The Poltergeist

**The Poltergeist**

Severus Snape tumbled out of the hearth in Florean Fortescue's. Florean gave him a smile. "Do you have time for the usual or is this a business trip?"

"Business, yes," said Snape, "but I have about an hour. Just wanted to get away from certain people I shan't mention."

"Mint?" asked Florean swiveling around on his stool and grabbing a beer glass.

"Quite," answered Severus.

Florean popped open a can of Guiness and filled the glass, handing it to Severus. Severus sipped it cautiously and sighed happily. "Your powers of Glamour are second to none, Florean."

"Well, considering that you taught me, sir..." said Florean modestly.

"Might I remind you that I am absolutely horrible at disguising food items? They always end up tasting funny. Which doesn't matter when hiding potion ingredients because people expect a potion to taste horrible. Making mint chocolate chip ice-cream look like Guinness, and still taste like mint, however, _that_ is talent."

"Making a six foot tall man look like a poltergeist, and feel like one too, thatis _genius_. Much more useful too, so I've heard."

Severus paled. "Florean" he said, "not so loud..."

Florean smirked. "Specialized Silencing Spell. Nobody can hear a conversation between me and another customer."

Severus breathed a sigh of relief. "Still, it wouldn't _do _for anybody to find out that I've been getting away with mischief and mayhem for years disguised as the ghost of a juvenile delinquent..."

"And a transformational Glamour like that," insisted Florean, "by a boy barely seventeen... those Gryffindor idiots never realized it was you?"

Severus smirked. "No, they didn't. Stuck to them like a particularly malignant spirit all the last years of school I did." He grinned evilly"Dumbledore never realized. Couldn't figure out why the ghost simply wouldn't do anything he said, or listen to any of the other teachers ... it was a great deal of fun. Still is."

Florean gestured to another customer that he'd be right over. "Heard you hassled your first years this year with water balloons," he chuckled. "Still got a playful streak in you, hm?"

"Oh, yes," said Snape, taking a deep sip. "Most entertaining. Particularly when the Slytherins had the nerve to complain to me afterwards..."

Florean snickered, but quieted quickly.

"Severus," he said seriously, "there isn't ... anything terrible making you come down today is there? I mean..."

"No," assured Snape, "I promised to get you out if there were, didn't I? No, this is personal. A... very young friend of mine was mistreated horribly, and I'm about to give them a taste of their own medicine."

Florean raised his eyebrows. "Nothing serious, I hope. I mean, they didn't..."

"No, no," said Snape, waiving a hand, "just fed her doubtful Potions for years, kept her looking several years younger than she is."

"Right up your alley then," said Fortescue, polishing the bar. "Should probably get a recipe from them while you're at it."

"Oh, I have that," said Snape. "It's primitive, to say the least, and it's a wonder it didn't kill her. She seems to have a stomach lined with steal, or a very strong MIS."

"Please," said Florean, "don't get technical on me. You know how bad I am at Magical Theory."

"If you were a little better," smirked Snape, "there'd be another poltergeist roaming Hogwarts. MIS stands for Magical Immune System., which differs from the physical immune system in that it blocks reactions on the Magical level, and on a physical level far more than the actual immune system. It will also have effect on bodily injuries, and not just infections. It relates to Heart Magic, and Wandless Magic in a way; it's an instinctive protective reflex action of the body, blocking bad effects"

"Hmm," said Florean, "that'll be what healed my daughter's arm then, I suppose. Mediwizards couldn't understand it. She'd fallen from a broom. Out in the country, where couldn't nobody hear her... She walked back though, and it had healed itself. In a few hours, too."

Snape nodded. "A typical emergency reaction in a stressful situation," he said. "I'm sure, however, that if she had been home at the time, and there had been people there to help, her MIS would not have activated, since she would feel taken care of. I've often told Poppy that if she didn't insist on healing everybody right away, they'd develop a good MIS, which would serve them well in later life when they don't have a nurse lurking around the corner all the time. But..."

"I know," said Florean. "Some people can't see beyond the immediate."

"Wearing bloody blinkers," grumbled Snape. "Like those wretched Pure Blood Elitists' children. Brought up by their doting parents, who've been fed that tosh about sickness being Muggle. Their Manors are spelled to keep out bacteria, viruses, and so on, to prevent them from catching a "plebian," illness, and being "tainted." They've never even had the common cold. By the time they reach school...

"Practically fall sick on the first day, I know," answered Florean. "Horrid."

"And weak," added Snape. "Far weaker than the children who've led normal lives, got a healthy cold once in the while, maybe even the flu. The Elitists' children can't stand temperature fluctuation... and what do the mediwizards do? Give them the Antiinfectiolsis Potion to shield them from what they can't yet defend themselves against. And when, someday, they're cut off from their supply..."

"A common cold could do them in, yes," said Florean. "Happens all the time. And people wonder why Pure Blood numbers are shrinking... killing their children with protection they are."

Snape harrumphed unhappily. "And it isn't just that," he grumbled. "They're shielded from the world as well. Oh, to be sure, they're told all sorts of nonsense, about how brain frequencies from the Muggles and Muggle born are poisoning their brains, and how they must therefore be killed off en masse, but..."

"Kept in their Manors all their lives, yes," sighed Florean. "Haven't seen another child, nor no how to relate to one. Dealt with adults all their lives, and think they are on the same level. Look at the Malfoy child for instance. He came in here, must have been 12, I suppose, and said that a filthy Mudblood such as myself ought to be AKed, and that he would do it himself when he left school. And when I laughed, he gave me the mirror image of his father's sneer..."

"That child..." snarled Snape. "It'll be a devil of a time to drag him out of the muck as it is. Add to that that his father will start teaching him 'the other,' pretty soon... I don't know what I'm to do with them all. He isn't the only one, either. They're all like that. Look at that Parkinson child. Has only ever dealt with her mother and her aunts, and thinks therefore that the way to get by in life is to simper and be seductive. Or Roltair, who was sorted into Ravenclaw of all the improbable things, thinks nothing of casting a hex on anybody that disturbs him in the slightest. Has lost Ravenclaw the Cup for at least two years running. Not loved at all by his housemates, I'll tell you that much."

Florean frowned. "What _is _one to do with them?"

"I honestly don't know. It's... I treat them they way they expect to be treated, like I would treat their parents. Its what they're used to, so they have a respect for me, even if they do not like me."

Florean smiled. "Don't think they like you at all," he said. "Even if they did, you wouldn't let them."

"I know they'll be attacked later," sighed Snape. "Even if I can't avoid a personal involvement at times, I feel I oughtn't encourage it. But as I was saying... what I have been trying to do, is treat them as they think they should be. That way, they don't see me as patronizing, as they do the other teachers, and they feel that they are on my level.

"Now, I don't think they are, and I disillusion them about it after while. But still, they must begin to respect in order to trust. Usually, what happens is that they start to bargain information with me for lenience in class. It is academic dishonesty, and if Albus knew he'd skin me alive. But... somebody has to save them, somehow. If they learn that there is somebody that will listen, and cares about what they know, maybe, just _maybe, _when push comes to shove, they'll tell me before they join the Dark Lord... and I can save them."

"They don't keep the points you give them for long," said Florean. "Your 'poltergeist' hops in, and frames them for something horrid..."

Snape broke into a grin. "Yesterday," he said, "I knocked a blackboard right in front of Minerva, and when it fell, all she saw was Zabini standing there laughing like a fool..."

"Cheering charm?"

Snape nodded. "Made up for not taking dozens of points off for his throwing dragon hearts at the Granger girl. I wouldn't have taken more than twelve, but Minerva's a demon. She took fifty, and gave him detention."

Florean grinned. "Will you never grow up?"

Snape grinned right back. "Only selectively. But, friend, I must be off."

"Don't bother paying, I'll just take it off your Christmas present."

"Good man," said Severus draining his glass and rising. As he swept out, he glared nastily at the others, who were enjoying large ice cream cones. He was inwardly grinning, however. Silencing charms were wonderful things, and talking to Florean was always a relief, even a pleasure.

Also, being able to have ice cream, when everybody thought you were drinking something alcoholic was a tactical masterpiece. He had not missed the two blond men starring at him curiously from the other side of the room, wondering why he had bothered to go to Florean's for a drink, instead of the Leaky Cauldron. If they thought he was slightly tipsy when they met, they would underestimate the power needed to fight, and Severus could give them a nasty surprise. In spite of all the better reasons for doing what he'd just done, the fact remained that Severus liked mint, even if he wouldn't admit it.

He walked off, and entered the Leaky Cauldron. Feeling only slightly self-conscious, he sidled up to the bar, and leaned on it in a careless manner. In a moment, the bartender walked up to him, wiping the sweat off his bald head with an enormous red handkerchief.

"What'll you have?"

"I would like," said Severus softly, "to hear some fiddle music."

"Ah," said he, "Mort and Bob went with Ralf, then? They're the ones who usually put the spells on the lass, after all."

Snape shrugged. "I've no idea who any of those people are," he said carelessly. "I was told your room was carefully Warded for quick ... interviews."

"So sorry, thought you were one of an old customer's group. You can have it for about a half an hour," he said, handing Severus a small brass key, "it's the last door on the left. Leave the key on the mantle when you're through."

Snape took it, tossed the man some change, and headed for the room. He walked down the hall, and unlocked the door. It was a small, quite bare room. Two chairs by the fireplace, and a pot of Floo powder in the corner.

Severus shut the door and locked it. He began to check the Wards. Antiapparition, Silencing Charms and a nasty Charm on the window to prevent any sort of entrance or exit there. He got out his wand and went to work removing the Antiapparition Ward, which was weak compared to the ones on Hogwarts or Lupin's place. After that, he took down the Ward on the window, and opened it.

The drop to the street wasn't too much, he supposed, and the more escape routes he had the better when dealing with the unknown. A quick Glamour later, and it looked shut. He took a deep breath, unlocked the door, and positioned himself by the side of the door, so that when opened he would be behind it.

He didn't have long to wait. Apparently, the newcomers appreciated the virtues of being early as much as he did. They slammed the door open. Severus grabbed the handle to stop it before it slammed into him, as they threw themselves into the chairs.

They waited in silence, impatiently checking their watches every now and then. Finally, the shorter one snapped out, "Where _is _that girl? We can't wait all day for her to come. Can't cast charms on her if she isn't bloody well _here._"

Snape drew his wand and shut the door with a snap. "No," he said, with a nasty grin, "you can't."


	21. Veritaserum and Fathers

**Veritaserum and Fathers**

The men leapt from their chairs and began to back towards the fireplace nervously. Snape grinned nastily and flicked his wand. "Accio Floopowder!"

Severus caught the pot in his left hand and dropped it with exaggerated carelessness to the floor. The pot smashed, and the powder crackled at the disturbance. Snape stepped forward with a predatory grin.

"Please, gentlemen, be seated," he said with mock formality, and a polite half bow. "I'd hate to have you stand on ceremony on my account."

With a nervous glance at each other, they did as they were told. The shorter one's hand edged toward his pocket, but Snape was faster. "Expelliarmus!"

Two wands and a dagger flew through the air. Snape caught and pocketed them. His grin grew wider. "Now, all potential distractions aside, may we deal with the matter at hand?"

"Don't mean to be rude," said the taller one defiantly, "but who the bloody hell are you?"

"My name is for my friends," hissed Snape, "and my friends don't forcibly stunt a child's growth and bleed her."

"Oh," said the shorter one, "you'll be that Lupin chappy then. We were told to look out for you. Understand this here and now. She belongs to Ralf."

Snape shook his head slightly. "Wrong, sorry. I'd be glad to introduce you to the Wolf sometime, but... sadly, he is indisposed. The Moon, you know."

"Look," said the taller one diplomatically, "neither one of us is responsible for this. Ralf's the man you want. He's the one that started the whole thing. All we've done is-"

"All you've done," interrupted Snape, "is let a serious offence against the sensibilities of the civilized Magical Community go unchecked."

The shorter one, who seemed the more reckless of the pair, snorted. "'An offence' you say? Against the... 'civilized Magical Community'? I don't call disarming and assault civilized."

Snape raised an eyebrow and shook his head slowly, his smile lingering eerily on his lips. He stepped forward and placed his wand beneath the man's chin.

"And what you do is, perhaps, something better? I think not. I don't prey upon the innocent and defenseless. You had at least fifteen minutes to make sure of your surroundings, and I was extremely late in disarming you. She had no defense, and no warning."

Fear burned in the man's eyes, as Snape pushed his head back with the wand's tip. "I..." he stammered, "I... we... What do you want?"

Snape removed his wand and stepped back. "The first intelligent thing you've said thus far," he sneered. "I am pleased with your progress. What I want is a detailed list of just what you've done to her. Every last spell, potion and charm you've forced upon her, from A to Z."

"I'm afraid I can't get you that," answered the man he'd threatened, massaging his neck where Snape's wand had jabbed him. "Mort's the one that does it. I'm just here for the ... intimidation factor." He gestured towards the other man, who frowned in thought.

"You want information," bargained Mort. "If you don't get it?"

"The Mediwizards will use you as an example for posterity," answered Snape simply.

"And if you do get it?" Mort pressed on.

"If I do," Snape said silkily, "you'll receive my compliments for being rational beings."

"What do you want anyway?" asked the other man. "What difference does it make what's been done to her?"

Snape glared at him dangerously, and flexed the fingers of his free hand. "What difference it makes?" he snarled. "Obviously, if I don't know what's been done, I can't reverse it, can I?"

"You take a lot for granted, sir," said Mort. "For one, you've assumed there actually is a way to reverse what's been done."

Snape waved a disinterested hand. "If it needs to be renewed on a regular basis, it isn't fully permanent. If it isn't fully permanent, it can be reversed."

Mort shrugged. "I don't know the formula for the Potion, and I don't think there's an Antidote. The spells are Praestate, and Detrude. Praestate is the Maintaining charm. It ensures that the potion, while not binding with her blood, does not leave her system. It only keeps effect for about a year, however. Detrude forces her true form within, and keeps it from escaping. I'm warning you now, sir, that if she's without it when the potion begins to lose effect... her body's natural reaction will be to try and revert to her true form. Without the effects of the Potion that will result in a rather grisly death, as her true form rips through her present one and destroys her physically."

Snape raised an eyebrow, and removed a small clear glass vial from his inner pocket with his left hand. "Drink this," he said, "and tell me that again."

Mort's eyes widened. "Veritaserum?" he asked. "Bob, you're the legal expert. Is that ... legal?"

His companion shook his head, but shrugged. "No, but legality isn't exactly germane here."

"I'm afraid not," chided Snape. "None of this is legal. Either your past actions, or my present ones. Let us all be blissfully illegal, and not rat on each other now, shall we" He flipped the cap opened, and pressed the flask to Mort's lips.

The Veritaserum was the strongest Snape had, and the few drops that made it past the man's lips to his tongue were sufficient for the effects to show. His eyes rolled back, and he slumped in his chair.

"Have you told me all you know about the Spells and Potions used on Philomena?" demanded Snape.

"Yes," answered Mort automatically, his voice expressionless.

Snape kept his face calm to keep his disgust from showing. He hated Veritaserum, and how he'd seen so many people under its influence spill their deepest thoughts to less than sympathetic listeners. Severus never used it unless absolutely necessary, but wasn't above using it as a threat. "Do you know the formula for the potion?"

"Yes."

"No matter. I have that," mused Snape. He kept his voice brisk and professional, as though he interviewed people under Veritaserum daily and it bored him. "Do you have the formula for an antidote?"

"No."

"What is Ralf's current location?"

"France."

"What is his exact address?"

"I don't know."

"Would you like an antidote?"

"Yes."

Snape smirked nastily. "What a pity. I haven't got one." He Disapparated.

Apparating close to Hogwarts, he made his way back up to the grounds. Severus walked automatically, hardly looking where he was going, though still not letting his guard down.

Rounding the bend, he came to the lake. He shook his head deciding he would rather not meet anybody on his way back, explain where he'd been, or even have Albus know he'd returned.

Severus walked carefully by the edge of the Lake until he got to his boat. He jumped nimbly in and untied it. Pushing off from the edge with an oar he rowed towards the south side of the Castle where the dock was.

Rowing was a relief. He'd been far too tense since the meeting with Potter as the dream had been disturbing. Adding an argument with Dumbledore, and the meeting in the Leaky Cauldron, had been a considerable strain on his nerves. Going into the Castle the hard way gave him a chance to process the day's events in his mind.

To begin with, he would have to have the Spells recast on Philomena. The Potion she was under would probably last several weeks longer. Ralf wasn't the sort of man who'd take unnecessary risks, and if the Spells weren't cast before the Potion wore off it would be fatal for the girl.

Snape grimaced. Apparently, the girl's actual body was being literally forced under her present form. The consequences of abruptly removing the force holding her true form in would be horrific. While Severus had seen much death in his time, he hadn't ever enjoyed it, and being torn apart from inside was one he would gladly pass up witnessing.

"Remus won't like it, damnit," he snarled to himself, "but that isn't my problem, thank Merlin. I hope he's done something already, or he'll never find the Spells in time, and I'll have to have her drink the damn Potion again..."

Snape grimaced. Probably, an Antidote wouldn't even be necessary, considering that the Potion wasn't permanent in the first place. If Lupin found a Counterspell, then they could simply wait for what she was under now to work itself out of her system...

But _when? _How much time did they have? Severus concentrated on simply rowing. Going forward. The dock was so much farther away from where he was, and it would take so much effort to get there, in that much time. Simple, physical facts. Nothing to assume, suppose, or second-guess. No tedious having to remember who exactly one was supposed to be, or what one was or wasn't supposed to know. Just a boat, a lake, and a destination.

He would have to do a thorough analysis of the Potion. When he'd finished, with luck, he would have a time limit. How long he and Lupin would have to search for a Counterspell before the girl would have to take the Potion again.

Snape gritted his teeth. It wasn't that simple. Things were _never _that simple when he got involved. Analyzing the sample he had would inevitably destroy it, which meant he would have to duplicate it, which meant he needed an analysis of the ingredients list to find out the brewing procedure used...

Snape reached the pier and steadied the boat by the side, tying it firmly to its post. He rose carefully and stepped onto the dock. There was a reason the lake entrance was used primarily by first years. It was an impressive introduction to the School, and very intimidating.

The students arrived in the evening and could probably see nothing at all when the boats went across the dark waters. The Squid always put in an appearance, of course. That was its job after all. Then, scrambling onto the dock, they had to file up the imposing flight of stairs into the grand entrance, whence they entered the Great Hall.

Their first sight of the school always left a lasting impression on their young minds; that not only was Hogwarts a place of learning, but also one of majesty, mystery, and danger. At least, that was what it was supposed to do. Judging by the prevailing student attitude, it didn't do any good whatsoever.

The other reason this route wasn't normally used by anybody other than first years was that there were so many easier ways to get into Hogwarts. A short walk across the grounds from the Main Gates and one quickly reached the West Entrance, which led directly to the main School corridor. There were several other entrances, including the above ground one to the Great Hall used by the older returning students and the staff.

One could also use any of the secret, or supposedly secret, passages from a number of other locations that lead directly into the castle without the need to cross the Grounds at all. These were the ones Snape preferred, especially in chilly October weather.

The very fact that the lake entrance was sure to be deserted was the reason Snape liked it. The dock didn't have one entrance up to the grand entryway, but several side exits into various parts of the castle.

Four doors led to the four Common Rooms. Severus hoped profoundly that the students didn't know about these passages, or that the children at least had the sense not to try midnight swims or the like. There was a passage up to the Headmaster's office, and one to the main hallway of each floor.

Severus opened the door that lead down to the dungeons. This was the only passage in the castle without portraits, simply because it was too damp for them. Snape smiled to himself as he walked quickly down what he considered his private hallway. For once he was completely sure that he was alone. No students, colleagues, enemies, allies, portraits, house elves, or even owls...

Finally, he reached his private quarters. He shut the door behind him and leaned against it for a moment, grateful for the reassuring hum of the Wards. They were the closest things he'd ever had to a mother's mollycoddling.

Snape checked the clock over the mantle. He groaned when he realized the hand was resting on his most hated space: Too little of it for you, mate. Severus sighed. The clock was right; he never had enough time to finish what needed to be done.

Snape sighed, and wondered why he kept the clock at all, but it was the last thing Mordred had ever given him. He couldn't exactly get rid of it considering that his brother's last act had been to send the clock to him.

Taking a deep breath, he got to business. He would need to contact Lupin, and inform him of how things stood. Hopefully, the man was back on his feet, in some semblance of health.

Gritting his teeth, he lit the fire with a quick Incantation, and then hesitated for a moment. Just how good were Lupin's wards? Would they prevent incoming Floo visits from an uninvited party? Probably not. He would stay on the safe side with a preliminary Firecall.

Severus grabbed a handful of Floo Powder, repressing a shudder. He had always hated Firecalls. The mere thought of having his head in one place while the rest of his body rested miles away, with the possibility of the meager connection holding them together being severed so easily, was abhorrent to him.

"Lupin's Cottage," he called, throwing in the Powder, and sticking his head into the flames. After a horrid disorienting pop, he blinked, and found his head in Remus' living room.

Remus was sitting up, which was a good sign. He was also eating a large bowl of soup, which was another good sign. He started, and turned to see Snape in his fireplace.

"Snape," he said, nodding, "I have two questions for you. Number one, who ate all of my chocolate, and number two, why are there pillows in my backyard?"

Philomena chose that moment to enter the room, carrying a bowl of very appetizing soup, which she set before Remus. She caught sight of Severus' head, and smiled cheekily at him. "Hello, there, Daddy."

Remus nearly choked on his tea. He looked from Philomena to Snape and back again. "Make that three questions."

"I have a few questions too, Lupin," said Severus. "Number one, can I come through or must I stay with my head in free space? Number two, have you any idea what went wrong with the potion last night? And number three, might we have a civilized conversation on your daughter's condition?"

Remus blinked, twice. Philomena smirked, and decided that everything would be much better if she removed the teapot. "I'll get some more tea, _father_," she said. "Come in, _Daddy_." With that, she swished out the door.

"Well, come in then, Snape," snapped Remus. "You've ruined my tea already."

Severus' head disappeared and was replaced momentarily with his entire self, stepping easily onto the hearth. "How are you feeling?"

Remus put a hand to his head. "Like I've been to hell in a hand basket," he replied. "Thanks for patching me up."

"I've been on some ... diplomatic visits ... to chat with certain people, and I've learned a great deal about the Spells currently on Philomena," said Snape, getting right to the point. "The Potion is temporary, and could wear off any minute now." He threw himself into the chair opposite Remus.

"Well, that's good isn't it?" asked Remus. "I mean, if it wears off we won't need to research an Antidote, will we?"

Severus sighed. "It's not that simple. The Potion has forced her current form on top of her actual one. If the Potion wears off and the Spells keeping her true form within her body aren't put back in place, her true form will rip through her present one. It would kill her."

Remus grimaced. "So what do we do?"

Snape pursed his eyebrows. "We have to recast the Spells she's under before the Potion wears off, and before the present ones lose effect. I have no idea how much time we have, so you'd better do it at once. In the meantime, I'll have to research the Potion. I've already got the ingredients, but I'll have to do some tests to see how long it lasts, and how much time we have. If you can't find a Counterspell soon, we'll have to give her the Potion again. Otherwise..."

Philomena had reentered the room with a steaming pot of tea. "Here you are, _Daddy_," she said, handing a cup and saucer to Snape. "Do you take sugar?"

"Er, Philomena..." said Remus carefully, "_why _are you calling Snape 'daddy'?"

Philomena started to giggle. "Because... because..."

Snape coughed. "Because she thinks it is amusing," he growled.

"I don't," countered Remus. "Really, love, he gets 'daddy' and I'm stuck with 'father'?"

Snape smirked and added sugar to his tea, noticing how the teaspoon was jammed into the sugar bowl. Apparently, Remus had indeed had to pacify it.

"You see... I was telling Mr. Snape this morning, when I... that is... er..."

"She came to me about the Potion," explained Severus quickly. "Since you were, shall we say, incapacitated. As for the ridiculous pet name she's stuck on me..."

Remus looked from one to the other. "I'm not going to like this explanation am I?" he asked. "Very well. Spit it out, and I'll promise not to fly off the handle... maybe"

"When I woke up, you were already on the couch and all, so I went over to thank Mr. Snape for staying with me, and-"

"You... stayed with her?" asked Remus, looking at Snape with a hint of severity, perhaps even jealousy in his voice.

"Yes," answered Severus. "You were throwing yourself at the door at frequent intervals. I don't blame her for being nervous. She asked me to stay. I did. Until dawn."

"Yes, that's right," agreed Philomena. "I was afraid, and I didn't want to be alone. At any rate. Next morning, you were on the couch, and healing nicely, so I flooed over to his office to thank him and see if he was ... alright."

Snape coughed to stop her.

"Why ... why wouldn't he be all right?" asked Remus.

"I hit my head," answered Severus quickly, "when I ran up the stairs. It's nothing."

"I'm sorry," said Remus.

"As I was saying," continued Philomena, "I went over. He asked again about the Potion and I described it. We ... worked on it for a while, and he came up with a sample. We tested it pretty thoroughly, so I know it's the right formula...

"While I was there, we got to talking about Ralf of course. I said that I hated the fact that my father was such a damned cad, and Severus said that he wasn't strictly speaking my father anyway, since he was my Sire. And I said Ralf was a damned father, and he said, no, YOU were my Dam. Which was really funny. And then I said that if he taught me Potions and so on, he'd be my patron, which is a sort of parent, and then..."

She paused for breath, and Severus took up the story. "And so I laughed, and asked her how she'd ever be able to tell all her fathers apart ... whereupon she started calling me _that._"

Snape stopped abruptly as Remus stood, his arms wrapped around himself, radiating anger. Philomena paled and exchanged a nervous glance at Snape. Remus' eyes blazed, and he seemed to be trying to stop himself from hitting something. "You had to tell her, didn't you," he said, his voice dangerously quiet. "You..."

Remus stepped forward, towering over Snape. Snape slowly got up from his chair, his eyes never leaving Remus'. Lupin continued to glare up at Snape, venom nonetheless lost for losing the advantage of height. For a long moment, they stared at each other, while Philomena watched sitting frozen in her chair.

"Stop it!" screamed Philomena suddenly, coming to her senses. "_Stop it_!"

Both men started, and turned towards her. She'd leaned back, tensed in her chair, her fists clenched. "Stop it this _instant_!"

Remus seemed to come to himself and turned away from both of them, wrapping his arms around himself again.

"He didn't tell me _anything," _Philomena shouted. "I _saw_ it. In Ralf's Pensive. If anything, try being angry with _me _for telling _him. _Though he _did _know already apparently."

Remus didn't say anything, but had started to shake slightly. "You... saw..."

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I... didn't mean to bring it all back unpleasant memories..."

Snape took a deep breath. "Lupin," he said, "if you please, I'd rather you didn't have a fit right about now. Calm yourself, sit down, and finish your tea. I have a plan to discuss."

Remus gave another shudder before reseating himself. "Out with it then."

"We need to find the Counterspells," Severus explained, "and I need to ascertain how much time we have. I suggest we reapply the Spells now; by the time we realize she needs them it'll be too late."

Remus nodded. "Yes."

"They're Praestate and Detrude," Snape continued. "I'll get back to my lab and get to work. With luck, we might even have her well in time for the next Order meeting, at which point you could introduce her as an especially accomplished Seer."

"I've... been doing some work on the Spells," said Remus. "I... almost have the Counterspells. One of them, anyway."

"Good," said Snape. "I'll get back to my lab. I have dozens of things to do now, but I'll do the time Analysis. I'll get back to you as soon as possible."

Remus nodded, intent on his tea.

"Have you any idea what... went wrong last night?" asked Philomena quietly.

"No," answered Snape. "The potion should have worked. Nothing in any of the research indicated a need to take it at a specific time. Frankly, I might have made a mistake..."

Remus looked up from his tea. "You didn't make a mistake. It was just... too late."

Snape leaned forward in his chair. "Too late?" he asked. "Have you noticed a change in effectively based on when you-"

"No," answered Remus. "You see... the Wolf... is a completely separate entity from me. That includes a different mind, a different personality. With the potion… she is locked out during the Transformation, and I keep my human mind. The result is that she fights constantly to break out. Her mind is... trapped inside. She wants to get loose. And if there's the smallest loophole she'll grab it. She'll do anything to claw get back in control.

"Before I started taking the Potion I never felt the Wolf while in Human form. Now... I hear her. Often, I feel her instincts taking charge. It never happened before. It's the inevitable result of shutting her mind out of her body. It tries to take over mine, and..."

Remus quieted. Snape fell back in his chair, running his hands through his hair in thought. "Perhaps," he said to himself, "we have been going at the Potion the wrong way. If I altered it, so that instead of _repressing _the mind of the Wolf, it _calmed _the wolf... or allowed the human mind to exist in tandem with the Wolf's. Perhaps even... tried to simply counteract the Bloodlust..."

"It does need more research," agreed Remus. "But, please, Severus... you've enough on your plate now. It's not... important. Or not as important as Philomena. I just have to make sure I take it well before dark, or lock myself in as I've always done."

"But father you can't just..." Philomena quieted at a shake of the head from Remus.

Snape furrowed his brow in thought. "I'll see what I can do," he said at last. "You take care of the Charms. I have to get back to Hogwarts before Albus sends an army of House Elves after my blood."

"I'm... sorry," said Remus quietly, as Snape stood to go.

Snape blinked. "Whatever for?"

Remus shook his head. "I'm sorry," he said, "that you... had to see that. And for... being such trouble. I... didn't want... I didn't..."

"Oh shut it, Lupin," admonished Snape. "It doesn't matter. I don't do it for you anyway."

"What do you do it for?" asked Remus.

Snape merely smiled in his predatory way, fingering his cloak clasp before Flooing himself out. 


	22. Pure Blood, Plans and Plots

**Pure Blood, Plans, and Plotting**

"Ah, Dolohov," asked Malfoy. "Is it done?"

"Thanks to your help, it nearly is," said Dolohov.

"Blood Magic," sighed Malfoy. "Such a nuisance, you know? Tricky, that."

Malfoy smiled lightly, and poured himself a drink. Dolohov groaned inwardly. It wasn't easy to deal with Malfoy, especially when he was in one of his moods.

"It does need a few more ingredients, we think," said Antonin. "And there are some more key Spells we need to locate but for the most part...

"Ah, yes, that one 'key ingredient,'" Malfoy interrupted. "You have a blood-taker with you, I suppose?"

Dolohov blinked in confusion. "Whyever would I? We already have the blood. A bit the worse for the wear on account of all the congealing it'd been doing, but our tests show the Essence is still there. What we really do need are the Ashwinder eggs, and-"

Antonin stopped abruptly when he realized the horrified look on Lucius' face.

"You ... you already _have _the blood?"

Antonin nodded. "Yes, our Lord had it sent to us the day we started the project."

"Whose was it?" asked Malfoy, looking uncharacteristically panicked. "Do you know whose it was?"

"Snape's, actually," answered Antonin. "Apparently, our Lord thought-"

"Grindelwald's Curses!" Malfoy swore, breaking the glass in his hand. "Merlin condemn it all!"

Dolohov jumped backwards in surprise. "_Damn _the man!" ranted Malfoy. "How _does _he do it?"

"Malfoy, I..."

"Peace, you fool," snapped Malfoy. "This is terrible. I'll never be able to fix this. It'll all go to hell, after all I've done..."

Dolohov shut his mouth with a snap, and decided he had better wait until Malfoy calmed down enough to explain, or ranted enough for him to understand on his own.

Malfoy, however, was not in the mood to talk or be talked to. He hurried over to his desk, ignoring the shattered glass, and opened it up, revealing a jumble of parchment rolls.

"Damnit, all of it," he muttered to himself, quickly finding one and unrolling it.

It had obviously not been unrolled in a while as it snapped back as soon as Lucius had spread it open on the desk. Malfoy growled in frustration, and unrolled the scroll once again. Antonin leapt forward and set a candelabrum onto one corner, while Lucius weighted the opposite one with a large book on the origin of Tree Worship.

Malfoy didn't appear to notice Antonin's presence, but began rapidly scanning the parchment for the passage he needed. "Life debts," he muttered, "bound in Essence... damn, damn, damn!"

Antonin blinked, and attempted to read over Malfoy's shoulder to no effect. The parchment was written in French.

"Passed on by Primogeniture," muttered Lucius, along with a great deal of rapid fire French which was lost on Dolohov. "Overrides Intent, Blood Purging..."

Antonin grimaced, as he realized that Lucius had gone into battle mode, full concentration on one object, and absolutely no recognition of anything beyond that. Dolohov sighed, and seated himself in an armchair, resolved to wait until Malfoy finished.

"...de Sang," whispered Lucius to himself. "Il est impossible au determin les résultats d'une telle expérience, parce que il n'a été jamais essayé."

"And if you take whortleberries, and stew them like lacewings, they taste more like Pepperup than Polyjuice does," muttered Antonin.

The roar of the Floo did not perturb Lucius, but caused Antonin to start considerably, when he saw Snape tumble onto the hearth. "Ah, Dolohov," he said silkily. "Fancy meeting you."

"Afternoon, Snape," nodded Antonin. "Are you all right? You're looking a bit under the weather."

"None of your concern, Dolohov," sneered Snape. "But I assure you, outside of a slight touch of anemia, along with lack of sleep, I am in perfect health."

Dolohov swallowed as Snape's eyes stared into his own. He was struck again with the thought that Snape _knew_. Finally, Snape dropped his eyes. For a moment, Dolohov almost thought he saw satisfaction in the man's eyes, but it was gone too soon for him to be sure.

"Is Malfoy approachable or is in he in one of his sulking fits?" asked Snape, carelessly pouring himself a finger of Malfoy's Scotch.

Antonin sighed. "In one of his moods, I'm afraid. Worked up apparently about the Sanguinary Watchimihoozits."

Severus turned to look at Malfoy, and while his back was turned on Antonin, he discreetly transfigured the Scotch into tea, and added a simple Glamour to disguise it. It would interfere slightly with the taste of the tea, but Severus didn't care.

"Blood Magic, by any chance?" asked Severus.

"He can't know," thought Dolohov to himself. "None of us would have told him, and our Lord _certainly _didn't tell him. He's only bluffing. How does he do it, though? How does he make me so _sure_ he knows?"

"Yes, Blood Magic," Dolohov said aloud. "He's just had a brainstorm of sorts, and I can't get him to react to the outside world anymore. Something's apparently wrong with the, er... 'primogenitive sanguinary whozywatzit."

Snape strode forward and pulled the parchment away from Malfoy. "Pardon me, Lucius," he said, "for disturbing your... research. I need to use your lab, and you've changed the password."

Malfoy snarled when his concentration was broken. "To know I changed the password, you must have tried it, and if you tried it, you know why I changed it."

Snape made an impatient gesture. "It's urgent; I knew you had work to do."

"How badly do you need the lab?" asked Malfoy silkily.

"Very," answered Snape. "Matter of using your Sanguinanalyzer, your Deoxyribonucleicacid Synthesizer."

Malfoy struck the desk with his fist in anger. "Don't tell me you're on the project, too! You _knew_ your blood wouldn't work! You _knew_ it would all go to hell!

"Relax, Lucius," soothed Snape. "I don't know what our Lord's ... project entails, beyond that I was asked to give blood and I have. This has nothing to do with the Cause. It is a personal vendetta. Hence, I did not wish to disturb you with it, as it would take to much of your time for me to explain."

"Listen to me, Snape," said Malfoy seriously. "You have more influence with our Lord than most of us. For Merlin's sake dissuade him from this project! Make him give it up! It'll be a miracle if it works, considering certain circumstances, and miracles have an alarming propensity to favor the other side."

"I'm not in favor at the moment," snarled Snape. "Not since that blasted affair about sending Potter a Portkey went to pieces."

"That was nearly half a year ago," protested Malfoy. "It was on the damned child's _birthday._"

"There's more to it," insisted Severus. "He... hasn't been happy with me of late. Many Potions he's requested I develop are impossible according to the laws of physics. Of course, you can't expect me to explain that to him, or even suggest that he might have an impossible plan in mind. And so I keep coming up with failure after failure..."

Antonin grimaced. "He has been that way of late," he muttered. "I'm beginning to think he's..."

"Insane?" put in Malfoy. "Of course he's insane. We all _know _he's insane! We simply have to make sure we use that to our advantage, the advantage of the _Cause_ as far as possible before it becomes necessary to... alleviate the problem."

Antonin fidgeted nervously with his cuffs. He felt dreadfully uncomfortable, knowing he'd got himself into something deeper than he'd intended. He hadn't meant to imply his Lord was insane, just stricter than he had been. If Malfoy was bluffing, perhaps to trap him into an act of treason, then he wasn't sure how long he would live. After all, it'd be Malfoy's word against his.

Snape was shocked to the core at Malfoy's blatant disrespect for his Lord. He allowed only some of what he felt to show up on his face, prompting Malfoy to explain.

"Oh, it's simple, really," chided Malfoy. "None of us ever really liked him after he came back, did we? He's been obsessed, deranged, sadistic... who wants a master like that? But, we remained faithful to the _idea _that returned to feasibility: to gain control of the Government, Wizard and Muggle. To deport all those of imperfect Lineage to other countries, so that we may have a pure and illustrious Empire.

"BUT to do that, we need to get rid of the powerful Wizards on the so called Side of Light. Alone, we can't get rid of Dumbledore. We can't destroy the Ministry. That's why we need the Dark Lord.

"My plan, Antonin, Severus, is to assist our Lord in every way. Our Lord is the only one powerful enough to kill Dumbledore. When Dumbledore is dead, the Ministry is bound to fall apart. It's no secret that he directs all of the least flashy, but most important offices. Once we eliminate Dumbledore, we destroy the mysterious Order, if it even exists.

"Then, we take the Ministry. The Banking systems of the world. European domination. When we have _that, _we allow the Potter child to eliminate our madman, and it will be simple to kill the boy once he's done us that little favor. With them out of the way, we can run the world as we see fit. Our Lord is, despite his original fervor, but a halfblood, and we all know we won't live long once he comes to power.

"He would follow the old pattern of all Emperors. Seeing a rival in every fool that crosses his path, killing and ruling with no thought to his people, but only for power. Destroying those who brought him to power, because he fears their influence will grow too great."

There was a silence after Malfoy had finished. Antonin twisted his fingers nervously, his eyes darting from Snape to Malfoy and back. _Why _was Lucius telling _him _this? Surely, if he wanted allies, he would turn to somebody more powerful. It was more likely a trap. They wanted him to say something, do something that would cause the Dark Lord to eliminate him for treason.

Snape raised an eyebrow sardonically. "And when you've eliminated our Lord, Malfoy, what then?" he asked. "You expect us to bow down to you, I suppose? You do realize, your rule would have the same problems as his, do you not? Merely replacing one despot with another."

Malfoy made an impatient noise in the back of his throat. "No, no," he cried. "Absolute power must NEVER rest with one individual! It's never worked, in all the history of the world. I want an aristocracy! A group of the leading Pure Blood Families, to run the land. Perhaps... Three. Or four. Lead by the head of each family. All laws passed, officials selected, decisions made, would have to be unanimous."

Snape frowned thoughtfully. "Any particular three families in mind, Malfoy?"

"Mine of course," he answered. "It is the oldest. Yours, Snape. Yours, Dolohov. Perhaps the Black family, but, unfortunately, their head is currently a woman, and women have no place in such matters."

"A few years ago, you were saying they had no place in battle, either," Snape pointed out.

"That," said Malfoy, "was before I got married."

"But..." said Dolohov slowly, "this... would mean we had to protect the Potter child. Until everybody else was out of the way..."

"Which means the Blood Magic Project MUST fail!" Malfoy said. "We can't lose him. He's the only one who can destroy the Dark Lord."

Snape shrugged. "What makes you so sure of that?"

"I have a friend, runs a shop in Knockturn Alley," said Malfoy. "Gave me access to a prophecy made by a Seer, which stated, explicitly, that only the Potter child could kill Voldemort."

Dolohov flinched at the name, but Snape held his ground. "How do we know we can destroy Potter, though?" asked Snape. "Did it say anything about that?"

Malfoy shook his head. "It was only concerned with how the Lord could be killed."

Dolohov shrugged. "Divination is notoriously less than accurate."

"Even so," insisted Malfoy. "We cannot allow Voldemort to attain full power, nor can we allow Dumbledore to win. A second defeat would destroy the little fervor left in our Side. We would never survive."

Dolohov nodded slowly. "Right," he agreed. "We have to keep Potter from dying. That will be difficult in the extreme considering how our Lord is obsessed with his demise. I suggest, therefore, we make the rest happen fairly quickly. We won't be able to protect him for long."

"Exactly," said Malfoy. "Therefore, this Blood Project must be sabotaged."

"What _is _the Project, exactly?" asked Snape. "I do know my blood is involved, and that Antonin and Rabastan are working on it, but I do not know the aim of it."

"Ah," said Dolohov. "We were instructed to take the Intent to destroy Potter, inherent in you, and the Essence of Hate in your blood, and bind it to some object. We are also supposed to add Potter's blood, for the trigger, and somehow get him to come into contact with the object. Which would, according to plan, leech his blood and destroy him."

Snape grimaced. "Getting Potter's blood is nearly impossible. We can use that to stall."

"Unfortunately," said Malfoy, "the Dark Lord used Potter's blood to bring himself back to Corporal form. He still has Potter blood in his veins, at least, enough of it to trigger."

"Wouldn't our Lord's Essence be present as well?" asked Snape. "It's contaminated, so to speak. That would interfere..."

"Worse than that," snapped Malfoy. "You're forgetting that damned Sacrificial Protection provided by Potter's mother. It's inherent in the blood as well. He'll be using a Protective Essence as the trigger."

"Which would, I suppose, merely protect the boy further, correct?" asked Severus. "As long as he doesn't die, I don't see why we should prevent it."

"You're forgetting, your blood has problems as well. Your life debt to James Potter was never repaid. Those debts are passed down to the next of the line if unfulfilled."

"Yes, yes," sighed Snape. "I know that. But I've repaid the damned thing, haven't I? I saved the child in his first year, in his third, in his fourth..."

Lucius sighed. "Severus, has _he _paid _you _back?"

"Me?" asked Severus, nonplussed. "Of course not. Why would he? It's my debt, not his."

"But," protested Lucius, "the Life Debt, being passed down, is far more complicated than the original. If repaid, it continues in effect, mandatory for _both _parties to ensure the protection of the other. If we use your blood, the Life Debt will activate with a tremendous amount of Protective Magic for the boy."

"What about Intent?" asked Severus. "Surely, if our Lord's, or my, intent is to harm..."

"Sacrificial and Debtor Protection overrides that," explains Lucius. "So, we would, in effect, be making the boy the most protected item in the Magical World, save perhaps Nicholas Flammel's laboratory."

"I don't see then why it has to fail," said Dolohov. "We want him protected, don't we? So that he can kill our Lord when the time comes, right? What better way to do it than this? We could put it down to Lilly Potter's Sacrificial Protection in his Blood, and protest we didn't know it would have that effect..."

"But we also want to be able to kill the child later," snapped Malfoy. "We won't have a chance if he's as protected as all that."

"What can we do, though?" asked Severus. "He's already got the spell. Nothing will stop him trying to use it, unless of course, we let him know what we've found out. That will only get us all killed, you know. He doesn't like being proven wrong."

"Damnit," cursed Lucius. "I thought it would be my blood requested all this time. Mine wouldn't have any Protection in it at all, and a good deal of Maledictive Essence. It would have worked. Protection enough to prevent our Lord from killing him, nothing to prevent _me _from doing the same thing."

"We could always tell our Lord about the life debt," suggested Dolohov, "and beg him to allow us to use somebody else's blood..."

"He'd kill me," snapped Severus. "You think he'd allow me to live if he knew I had an irresistible compulsion to protect that idiotic child?"

Malfoy sighed. "I feel for you, old bean. Seeing him every day, hating him like poison, and having to save him every chance you get..."

"It's bearable," said Snape stiffly. "I'd appreciate it if we dropped the subject."

"Then what DO we do?"

Malfoy shrugged. "We wait for something else to go wrong," he said. "Perhaps Rabastan will... make a mistake?"

"No," said Dolohov. "We can't do that. He's from a more respected family than mine. Our Lord would never believe it was his fault. Never. Besides, what would your wife think of you, killing off a family member that way? She has few enough relations as it is."

Snape shrugged. "Then, we wait, watch, and hope against hope that something in this mess turns out right."

"We could always... replace Snape's blood with yours, Lucius," suggest Dolohov.

"Do you think our Lord won't test that?" said Lucius tiredly. "He tests every last Charm, Hex, or Trap we set for the child, to make sure he can blame it on one of us rather than himself when it fails."

"Then Severus is right," said Antonin. "Waiting is our only option."

"This has been fascinating," said Severus after a pause, "but I really need to use the lab. The matter is rather urgent, and terribly important."

"You've a 'personal,' matter?" asked Lucius, smiling at last. "Congratulations. The betting pool might just be mine after all. Who is she?"

Snape rolled his eyes. "It's nothing like that," he snapped. "We're related. The passwords, if you please?"

"Aristocracy," said Lucius silkily.

"Just a moment!" called Antonin before Snape could leave. "What guaranty have I – has _any _of us got, that we won't be betrayed on this matter? The Dark Lord doesn't take betrayal or plotting very well."

Malfoy smiled, and pulled a parchment from the desk. "I'm prepared for this," he said. "I knew I would have to enlist help at some point, and I knew I would have to be sure of their loyalty. This is a Fidelimortus. We shall all sign this, and if a word is said to betray this, the speaker will die a nearly instantaneous, but nonetheless painful, death."

Snape drew his wand and tapped the parchment. "Confirmare."

The parchment glowed pink. Snape nodded in satisfaction. Lucius smirked. "Don't trust anybody, do you?"

"I find it rather unwise to do so without assurance," answered Snape. "A quill?"

The Parchment was signed, with Severus' precise script, Lucius' characteristic flourishes, and Antonin's scribble. Snape nodded to his new allies, and Flooed himself to Malfoy's labs.


	23. Frogs and Quills

**Frogs and Quills**

Severus rubbed his temples as he clambered out of the fireplace in Malfoy's labs. He was here, rather than in Hogwarts, because Lucius' equipment was far more sophisticated than anything Hogwarts had on hand, or Severus could afford.

Malfoy didn't actually use any of the equipment he had. Lucius did make sure his Lab was the most sophisticated in Britain because he knew it annoyed Snape. It also gave him a way to bargain with Snape. So many hours in the lab, for so many Potions.

Snape growled as he poured half of Philomena's blood sample into the Deoxyribonucleicacidsynthesizer, and half into the Sanguinanalyzer. The devices began to pulse, and soon Snape had several large pages worth of diagrams and charts.

Severus gave the charts a cursory glance to make sure they were complete, and gathered them together, rolling them up and stashing them in his inner cloak pocket. He thought vaguely that it was about time he went through his pockets again to be sure he hadn't forgotten anything important, but decided he had to get back to Hogwarts before Albus realized he'd been Floo hopping.

With a sigh, he grabbed a handful of Floo Powder and made the stomach-wrenching trip back to Hogwarts.

XXX

Philomena frowned as she stared at the frogs on the desk in front of her. She supposed her father would have a fit if he knew she wasn't 'going to lie down for a bit' as she'd told him. Sighing in frustration she tried for the tenth time to draw a Pulse from one of the animals without touching it.

Alternately, she had been trying to touch a Pulse without experiencing a Vision. Snape had said she would be able to See voluntarily. From what she'd experienced thus far, however, it rather seemed that she would have to refrain from all contact with people in order to avoid having Visions about them.

She watched the blue flames dance between the frogs. Concentrating on one, she tried to will it towards her, the way she performed an Accio Charm. Nothing. Not even the slightest flicker in her general direction. Philomena had also tried Accioing the Pulses. They didn't react to the Charm, or indeed, to any Magic whatsoever.

"Stupid Kalgra blood," she muttered. "I'm not a pigeon, dash it."

The flames flickered, the frogs croaked, and Philomena felt a headache coming on. "Here goes nothing," she thought as she reached her hand out. She concentrated completely on blocking the Vision, but it was no use. The second her hand brushed the Pulse, she Saw that perhaps, in the next twenty minutes or so, frog number three just might catch a fly.

She sighed, and wondered how long she'd been working at this. After Snape had left, Remus had closeted himself in his lab, presumably working on the Counterspells. That had been about noon, lunchtime. Her stomach growled.

The nearest Pulse flew towards her, and another Vision struck. Apparently, frog number one had a good chance of hopping off the desk. Confused, she wondered what had triggered the jump. She certainly hadn't done anything magically, and hadn't touched the Pulse physically.

She groaned, and put her head in her hand. If the Pulses were going to fly at her without warning, then it would be just as before, only without the seizures. Suddenly, she didn't feel quite as hungry.

"Stupid Potions, stupid Seer, stupid Bloodline," she muttered to herself. "Stupid Kalgra, stupid..." She stopped abruptly; when she noticed frog number two had edged up to her hand. A Pulse was dancing between her fingers, but there was no Vision.

Frowning she moved her hand away. The Potion could be faulty, she supposed, and that could account for the lapse. But then what had caused the other Pulse to snap towards her? It didn't make much sense.

Frog number three zapped out its tongue, and snagged a passing fly. Philomena shrugged to herself, thinking that it made sense that the frog had managed to catch something despite its laziness. The fly was sluggish and would have died sooner or later from the cold... and then the frog might have died of hunger, and –

Abruptly, Philomena shot to her feet. "Hunger!" she yelled. "That's IT!"

"What's that, love?" called Remus.

She winced. "Sorry," she called back quickly. "Odd dream."

She shook her head to herself. She remembered laughing at the story of Archimedes, leaping from the bathtub to run through the streets yelling that he had found it. Now Philomena knew how he'd felt. The elation of suddenly realizing how simple it was; what a small silly thing it was that ended up making all the difference.

"Kalgra don't _have _Visions!" she thought excitedly. "They _eat _the Pulses! Draw them in for _nourishment_! Live off them! They don't call them unless they're _hungry!_"

She stared at frog number one. It had already developed a new small flame. Concentrating on the feeling of hunger, she stared at the Pulse. It leapt strait into her hand, and another Vision danced quickly through her head of herself replacing the frogs.

"Eureka," she whispered.

Philomena then concentrated on the feeling of being pleasantly full. She touched frog number four. The Pulse danced between her fingers, but the Vision didn't come.

She quickly put the frogs back into the box, completing the latest vision, and preventing an earlier one. Gladly, she flew down the stairs to see her father, only to find him completely absorbed in his work.

A number of books were spread haphazardly across the table. There was a quill stuck in Remus' hair, and an inky smudge on his forehead. Remus scribbled frantically onto his pad, a second quill gripped in his right hand, as his left scrambled to find the correct of the books he was working with.

His lips were working silently, and Philomena wondered whether he was mouthing the words he was writing or the ones he was reading. She checked the clock. Already seven. No wonder she was hungry.

She smiled as she watched him take an absentminded gulp of coffee. The pot itself was nearby, and nearly empty. The Pulses danced about him. She watched as more flames added themselves, presumably to compensate for possible futures involving what he was working on.

Decided to test her resistance to Visions from greater beings than frogs, she moved silently over to him and touched his shoulder lightly, while envisioning having eaten. The Pulse remained where it was, but Remus started.

"Oh, hello love," he said, disoriented blinking up at her. "Is something wrong?"

She pulled the quill out of his hair, Pulses glancing harmlessly from her fingers, and handed it to him. "You seem to have misplaced this, father."

He took it from her and looked at it, puzzled. "How in Merlin's name did that get there? I was writing with it just a second ago..."

"You're writing with the other one," she said gently, noticing that his right hand had managed to smudge half the page when she'd startled him.

"Oh, right." He was embarrassed. "Sorry... I tend to ... drift when I'm working. Dreadful nuisance. I've even been known to do the same homework essay three or four times over without noticing it in school. That is, until I saw my friends hand them in, later."


	24. Counterspells and Fidelius

**Counterspells and Fidelius**

Snape stepped out of the fireplace into his room, and to his horror, saw Dumbledore perched on his desk with a smug smile on his face. "Have fun, Severus?" asked Albus.

"Had a jolly time, Headmaster," he deadpanned. "I just went off for a chat with the wife and kiddies."

"Are you quite all right, Severus?" asked Albus. "You look tired."

"That would be because I am, Albus," sighed Severus. "You might remember that I got back quite late last night, or shall we say early this morning. I'd have slept longer than I did, but certain pesky students of mine saw fit to wake me. I've been running about Britain getting things done ever since. Kindly add whatever it is you're here for to my to do list, and I'll be sure to get it to you before somebody kills me."

Albus blinked and stared at Snape in confusion. Severus was nearly always grumpy, but one rarely saw him complain about anything. Perhaps he'd been hurt again, and didn't want anybody to know it. The last time he hadn't said anything about a curse, it had taken Albus months to realize it, and by that time Severus had been nearly past saving. Albus knew that Severus hated to be seen as weak, and would gladly add more to his workload to prove that he could do it rather than admit that he'd got himself injured.

"Are you quite all right, my boy?" asked the Headmaster.

"Just ducky," snapped Snape, taking out the scrolls of data he'd gathered, and spreading them out on his worktable. "Never better."

"I haven't heard you use the phrase 'ducky' for quite some time. It must be really bad. Sherbet lemon?"

Snape groaned. "No, Albus, I do _not_ want sweets. I have work to do, and this can't wait. Just let me know what you need and I'll take care of it."

"I was just here because I was worried," soothed Albus. "You don't normally use your Floo."

"You don't normally monitor my Floo activity," grumbled Snape. He kept his back to the headmaster, getting out a quill to highlight the important parts of the analysis.

"Blood magic, Severus?" asked Albus, looking over his shoulder. "I thought you said he'd given up the project?"

"I said he'd given up trying to get Potter's blood," replied Snape. "And this isn't for the Dark Lord anyway. It's for your Werewolf."

"Severus! For the last time, stop trying to throw suspicion on Lupin. He has done nothing wrong."

Severus shrugged. "I wasn't trying to throw suspicion on him. I was simply answering your questions. Truth is, I have a bargain with Lupin. Owe him a favor, in return for something."

"You expect me to believe that Remus owes you something? That you would allow yourself to be in his debt?" Albus was incredulous,

"Sweet Merlin, Albus!" swore Severus angrily. "Make up your mind! Do you trust me, or not?"

"My boy," said Albus, "I trust you. You know that."

"Hm..." said Severus mockingly, "here's a man who accuses me left and right of betrayal, openly acknowledges that he doesn't believe me, monitors my comings and goings without my knowledge or consent. I suppose he must trust me."

"Very impressive Wards they were, too, Severus," mused Albus. "I couldn't get into your Private Chambers at all, and your Storage Cupboard... You ought to work with Remus."

Severus lost his temper, and got up, knocking his chair over with bang. "Damnit, Albus! Just this afternoon you repeatedly accused me of trying to kill the man. A second ago you expressed doubt that I could actually have had an agreement with him. Now you want me to work with him."

Albus spread his hands out in a gesture of helplessness. "I don't know what to believe, Severus," he said. "You've always had a second meaning under what you say. When you tell the truth, you hide some of it. You do bring priceless information to us, and we must trust your judgment on what to tell us, and what to keep to yourself. You've hidden, at times, that you were injured. I can only infer that you've hidden other things as well."

"I know, I know," muttered Snape, setting the chair back upright. "Nobody trusts a spy not to turn..."

"I trust you not to betray us," said Albus. "Frankly, I cannot trust you not to work in your own interests against... certain individuals on our side."

"Of course I work for my own interests," snapped Severus. "Doesn't everybody? The main reason I do this, let me remind you, is so that I, personally, survive this war. That's the same reason I did it last war. Frankly, I don't trust half the Order not to act in _their_ own interests and kill _me_. If they don't do it, the Death Eaters will. I am not trusted, Headmaster, by anyone, anywhere."

Albus made a move to protest, but Severus stopped him with an impatient gesture. "I'm tired of saying this over and over again, Albus," he said icily. "But you can trust me to do anything in my power to protect those I know to be on our side, to give you all information that will help our side. As to working against others, how many times must I assure you that I never have killed another human being, nor shall I ever do so."

"You still persist in telling me that Voldemort cannot subvert Fidelius," protested Albus. "You deliberately-"

"Albus, listen to me," grated Severus. "For the last time: There is no way to subvert Fidelius. I have been trying to find one for the past twenty years. If I had one, I would use it to find out the Dark Lord's current location. I did not _let _Potter and Lilly die. I shall not _let _the Order be found. I, in fact, _cannot _let the Order be found."

"Then how did-"

"You _know _how he did! He was Remus Lupin's bloody Alpha! A Bond of that strength cuts through Fidelius, indeed just about any Ward, like a hot knife through butter. If anybody in the Order had a Soulmate Bond, they could be found as easily. Fortunately, nobody has, and we are safe."

"Remus assured be that he didn't know the Wolf that had bit him," snapped Albus. "He wouldn't lie to me."

"To begin with, how old was he when he told you that? Under what circumstances? I'm willing to bet you only asked him once, when he was a first year straight off the train. Do you think he'd have told you? He wouldn't have been able to, as his Alpha would have forbidden him. The Bond would have prevented him from harming his Alpha in any way. Telling you would probably have got him turned over to the law, and even as a child Remus would have known that Ministry policy was to kill Werewolves who had turned anybody. Secondly, he _told _you he lied to you. That day, after the meeting, he _admitted _that he'd lied to you. What more do you want?"

"Severus..." began Albus, "I've trusted Remus for a long time, and I still do. If he'd betrayed me, I'd know it."

"He didn't _betray _you, you stupid old man," snapped Snape. "He told a lie when he was eleven. It didn't have anything to do with your trust, or any promises he made later. Besides, when in the name of Hagga did you begin to trust him? _After _the first war, when you were completely sure he hadn't gone Dark. You'd had _no _reason to distrust him all those years, and plenty of reasons _to_ trust him."

Albus smiled blandly. "You're defending him," he said finally. "I never thought I'd see the day."

"I'm not defending him," protested Snape. "I'm simply pointing out to you that you've absolutely no reason to demand unconditional truth or loyalty from him. Only loyalty to the Cause and the Order. No reason to expect him to tell you his life story, or to let you know his secrets. Who and what do you think you are? You are his employer, nothing more, nothing less. You need to realize that he doesn't belong to you, that none of us belongs to you, that _I _do not belong to you. Yes, we have duties, obligations to you, but what we do in our own time, who we see, whom we decide to help, whether you like it or not, there is _nothing _you can do about it."

Albus blinked, started to say something, but decided against it, and swept out of Snape's lab. He hummed as he walked back to his office. Albus knew it wasn't quite fair to bait Severus, seeing as the man had been working at dozens of different projects for the Order, and the School, and Albus supposed that Voldemort wouldn't think of these as an excuse to slack off. Albus felt, however, that his Potions Master needed to vent to somebody. If getting him angry was the only way to make him speak his mind, or let loose his frustration, then Dumbledore would be happy to give him the opportunity.

Albus didn't actually distrust Severus, or believe half the things he had just said to him. He brought them up again and again partly to give Severus an excuse to explode, and partly since he was interested in the man's reactions. He knew, also, that Severus was run down on account of all he was doing. He was sure, too, that Severus was doing a great deal more than he admitted to. "So," he thought to himself, "Snape has a deal with Remus, has he? Must have something to do with that Alpha fellow... interesting..."

Severus, meanwhile, decided he would work out the idiosyncrasies of Philomena's blood later, and concentrate on the time analysis of the Potion she had already been given. Time was of the essence, and if the Potion wore off before Remus found the Counterspells, the results would be grim.

XXX

Philomena was watching Remus work. He was quite absorbed in what he was doing, and seemed to have forgotten she was in the room. It was getting late, and Philomena was tired. "Gotten anywhere?" she asked at last, trying to ease the silence in the room.

"Yes," Remus answered, looking up. "Nearly have it. I hope to goodness we've enough time before..."

Remus broke off with a shudder, and went back to his book.

"Father," she said slowly, "I... I wanted to say I was sorry."

Remus looked up and blinked. "Sorry? Whatever for, love?"

"I've been... distant, I suppose," she said. "I ... I'm ... a coward. You're my father, and I feel I ought to love you, and I'm afraid I simply won't measure up. It was so much easier to be friendly with Snape because... because I didn't _have _to, and he didn't want me to, and he wouldn't care if I didn't. Does that make sense?"

Remus blinked, and started to say something, but she cut him off. "I know it doesn't make much sense. I just saw how hurt you were when I called Snape 'Daddy', and I just... I didn't think it was fair. To hurt you like that, after all you've done."

"It's all right, love," sighed Remus. "I'm afraid I get a bit ... overprotective, you might say. I haven't a whole lot to be jealous about, you see."

She sighed. "I shouldn't be so afraid."

"Afraid of what?" asked Remus.

"A lot of things," she answered. "I'm afraid of making a mistake. I'm afraid that once you find out certain things, you will be angry with me. I'm afraid I'll... have to go back to Ralf..."

"You know, love," said Remus, "I had a terrible dream. I'd failed with you, and you'd ended up going back with him. Maybe I've already have failed, by not getting to you sooner."

"You couldn't have," she sighed. "You didn't know I was alive."

"I know," sighed Remus. "Doesn't stop me feeling guilty about it. Somehow, I ought to have known. _Moony_ ought to have known..."

There was a silence, as Philomena fidgeted uncomfortably, and Remus went over his notes again, trying to get himself back on track.

"How do you do it?" asked Philomena. "Create a Counterspell, I mean?"

"Creating Counterspells is simple in theory," began Remus. "You have the Spell already, so you simply need something that counteracts everything it's done. In practice, that means I have to first pinpoint what results I want... for instance, if I simply reversed a balding hex that made your hair fall out, it would simple stick all the hair that had fallen back onto your head. But it wouldn't make sure that the roots were correctly implanted."

"Can I help?" she asked.

"Eh... I'm nearly finished. All I need now is the wand movement... but for that I need the wand movements for the original Spells..."

"And for that you have to develop them, too," she finished. "I'm sorry I can't be any help. I can't remember them... nothing."

"The thing about wand movements for Counterspells, is that they're nearly always the exact opposites of the original Spells. So, with luck, once I find the original wand movements, I should be set."

"Never used a wand," she admitted. "What difference does the movement make?"

"The movement focuses the Energy," answered Remus. "It's complicated Magical Physics, and I don't even understand half of it. Simply put, your wand channels your Magic, and depending on what direction you move your wand, your Magic is directed out at a different tangent, and that ... connects with the object Spelled in a certain way. For instance, Wingardium Leviosa. If I use that, with, instead of the upwards flick, a downwards flick, the Magic is forced downwards, while trying to force the feather upwards. The result is very weak."

"I think I understand," she answered. "Like ... with wandless, you need to concentrate on which fingers to use..."

Remus blinked. "Not many Mages use wandless. Not many can, really. It's not a human gift."

Philomena looked up, surprised. "Not human?"

Remus shook his head. "I can use... a little," he mused. "Because of my Beast side. I know most other partial humans can use it as well. Vampires, Veela descendants..."

"Do you suppose I'm fully human?" Philomena asked. "Considering the way I was born..."

Remus shrugged. "I haven't any idea. You were born of a Wolf, to a Wolf... perhaps that makes you partially Wolf. I'd hate to think what sort of classification the Ministry would give you, but since you were never registered anywhere..."

She grimaced. "You bet I'm registered in the Muggle world. I have a certificate of birth on the records, education records, medical... Ralf had connections. He used them." She shrugged. "I don't know why he bothered, really, considering that the less people knew about me, the less likely he'd be found out. Suffice it to say, that when I eventually try to find employment or some such, I won't be legally nonexistent. One headache avoided, I suppose."

Remus shook his head to clear it. "Yes, yes," he sighed. "I suppose you would want to find work at some point. Only natural."

"I was rather thinking of helping your Order," she said. "After all, a Seer is a valuable asset to anybody. Of course, I can't be introduced as your daughter, seeing as it is illegal..."

Remus ran his hands through his hair. This was why he'd agreed to Snape's terms, after all, so that the Order wouldn't know who she was. "Well," he said, trying to sound careless, "I suppose we could always... pretend you were somebody else."

"I'll think about it," she said.

He nodded absently, and rubbed his forehead in frustration. "Wish I knew how much time we had," he grumbled. "As it is I have no idea what I'm up against..."

"Snape said he'd get back as soon as he'd worked it out," assured Philomena.

Just then, an owl knocked on the window. Philomena crossed the room with a swirl of her robes to let it in. She took the scroll from the owl, and it flew off immediately.

"Speak of the devil," she mused, "and you step on his tail. It's from Snape."

She handed the message to Remus, who unrolled it, and held it so that both could read it. It was short and too the point, which considering the writer wasn't surprising:

_Two Days_


	25. Various Illegal Subjects

**Various Illegal Subjects**

Snape was waiting in the classroom that had been set aside for Potter's Occlumency lessons, or to be precise, his Occlumency and Various Illegal Subjects lessons. He smiled to himself, as he tallied points for a Ravenclaw exam. Harry would be late, by at least twenty minutes.

Harry arrived on the run wrenching the door opened, and slamming it behind him. He leaned against it, breathing heavily.

"Mr. Potter," said Snape silkily, replacing his quill in the inkwell, "you're late."

Harry looked flustered, as he swung his bag of books to the floor. "Sorry, Professor, for being late, but I ran into Peeves, who yelled down the corridor about belligerent boys invading the dungeons after hours, so naturally Filch arrived, and I've spent all this time getting away from him."

"We will just have to stay later to make up for your tardiness, Mr. Potter," returned Snape. "Now, tell me, what have you learned over the week from your reading?"

"Well... that Avada Kedavra isn't just used to kill," Harry answered. "And that-"

"One thing at a time, Mr. Potter," interrupted Snape. "First, the Killing Curse. We will not be referring to it by name for obvious reasons. How does the Curse work?"

"It's a very primitive Spell," answered Harry. "It is activated less by the Intent of the Caster, and more by Desire. Theoretically, if I wanted to ... heat up my cocoa, and that was either ALL I wanted, or the only thing within reach of the spell that I wanted, that would be the result. However, any deeper desire will take over the spell regardless of my immediate Intent."

Snape nodded. "Your imbecilic brain does manage to hold a few facts after all, Potter. Now, tell me, what is your deepest Desire at this moment?"

Harry sighed. "I'm not sure."

"You don't know?" Snape mocked. "Surely, you have some idea of what you desire most of all, Potter?"

Harry bit his lip. "I ... for a while I thought I wanted to kill Voldemort, and destroy those loyal to him. But then I got to thinking... if I simply mercilessly slaughter them, am I not descending to their level? Using their methods doesn't seem right to me, but I can't see another way to do it. I am certain that what I want most in the world is to destroy his evil, but I don't think I'm capable of killing anybody."

"Mr. Potter," sighed Snape, "a person's soul is an immensely complex thing. It is impossible to separate a person's 'good,' side from his 'evil' side. Or to even say just what part of him makes him the way he is. Similarly, you can't separate a man's humorous side, from his serious side. A man is too knit together to divide into elements of himself. It's simply not possible."

"I know," said Potter quietly. "But it shouldn't matter, should it? If my Desire is impossible, my Intent should be enough. And if I intend to kill him, I should be able to."

"You don't want to kill him, do you?" asked Snape, his eyes glittering keenly, as he leaned forward over the desk, rising out of his chair slightly.

"What difference does it make what I want?" asked Harry bitterly. "It's never made much difference before. Why should it now? It's not important. I have to do this, and I'm here to learn how from you. I don't want the threat of Voldemort hanging over my head my whole life. The sooner I eliminate him the better."

Snape rose and walked around the desk towards Harry, his cloak a swirl of gray, with a billow of black robes. "You must understand, that even if you do eliminate the Dark Lord," said Severus softly, "the war will be far from over. Some of the Death Eaters will not stop with his demise, but rather see an opening for their own ascension to power."

"That may be true, professor," answered Potter, "but that won't be... my responsibility. Other people can do that. My plan... once it's over, and I'm out of school, is to leave. I want to go somewhere, anywhere. Far away, where nobody has ever heard of me. Muggle if I have to. So that I can simply live like an ordinary man, doing things an ordinary man can do. Once I kill Voldemort, there will be nothing to make me different anymore. Nothing to make people fall over themselves to keep me safe, or attempt to kill me. Where people will get to know who I am, and not who they expect me to be."

Severus sighed. "What we want is not always possible."

"I know," admitted Potter. "But I need a dream."

For a moment there was a silence in the room, as both thought about what had been said. Finally, Severus brought his hand down onto the desk with a slap. "Enough," he said. "Let's get on with this."

"Yes, sir," said Harry, immediately bringing himself back to full attention.

"Since your deepest Desire is impossible, your Intent will have to do as a focus the Curse. I am going to teach you to cast the Killing Curse. We will start small, to get over your natural aversion to casting it. Gradually, you will become accustomed to using it, so that when push comes to shove you will not make the fatal error of hesitating."

"Yes, sir," said Harry, drawing his wand. "What shall I start on?"

Snape pulled his quill from the inkwell, and dropped it unceremoniously onto the desk. "Transfigure that," he ordered," into a twig." Severus stepped back from the desk, one hand fingering his cloak pin as he watched.

"Yes, sir." Harry stepped up to the desk, and drew his wand. He took a deep breath, and brought his wand down, practicing the jagged line that had been the last sight of so many Wizards. He called into mind the same feeling he used when Transfiguring for McGonagall; the wish to force one thing into the form of something else. He brought his wand back up, and brought it back down in the same movement. "Avada Kedavra!"

A jet of green light erupted from his wand, and enveloped the quill. Harry squinted at it, as the green light pulsed for a moment before it dissipated, leaving a slightly quillesque twig lying on the desk.

Snape picked up the twig, which was hollow and had a pointed nib on one end, examining it critically. "Not much for Transfiguration, are you?"

"Not very," admitted Harry, "but at least it did something."

"You are afraid of using the Curse," said Snape simply. "You are holding yourself back. Put every ounce of willpower into the Curse. Feel it. Feel the Power, and channel it through your wand. Try again."

Snape Retransfigured the quill, and Harry tried again. Focusing deeply on the quill, and imagining a perfect twig in his mind's eye, Harry raised his wand then brought it back down in the lightning slash. "Avada Kedavra!"

The green light shot out and immediately the quill became a twig with a soft swoosh. Harry blinked at it. "I ... I did it."

"Progress, indeed, Potter," agreed Professor Snape. "My Wards, however, shan't hold out much longer. After all, there are only so many Unforgivables I can filter out without the Headmaster noticing."

"Professor," asked Harry, "can I ask a question? If... the Ministry can detect underage Magic, why can't it detect an Unforgivable?"

"It can, Mr. Potter," answered Snape. "But it doesn't. And even the Underage Magic Detection System has limits. I believe you are familiar with the fact that the Caster cannot always be identified correctly. We are, however, not here to discuss the Ministry or its policies."

Harry nodded, and stared at the twig on Snape's desk. The enormity of what he'd just done washed over him. He had committed a felony, which could land him in Azkaban. He had used an Unforgivable deliberately. He had simply Transfigured a quill into a harmless twig, but at the same time disobeyed Dumbledore's express orders not to meddle or learn any Dark Arts, broken the law, and taken the first step towards his ultimate goal of eliminating Voldemort.

"A beautiful twig, Mr. Potter," said Snape suddenly, "but surely not worth staring at for the rest of our lesson."

"Sorry, sir," apologized Harry. "It's... it's a bit overwhelming."

"Well, if they taught elementary things like this in Defense, we wouldn't be here," said Snape. "However, we aren't here to talk about School Policy either. You are here to learn Occlumency, and the Headmaster is waiting for progress in that department. He's seen precious little this year."

"I've finished the book, sir," said Harry tightly. "It was a bit difficult. I'm not sure I understood all of it, or that I could do it, but I know how it works."

"In general terms," said Snape, slipping into lecture mode, "how does Legilimency work, and how does that effect your options for Defense, both with Occlumency and by other means?"

Harry smiled. "I am prepared for this," he said. "I've written you a four foot essay on the subject. I was sure it would be one of your questions."

"Potter," snapped Snape, "I do hope that this essay is your work, and not that of Granger. I must stress that your foolish Gryffindor tendency not to ask for help apply to these lessons. May I assure you, Potter, that if we are caught at this endeavor, the consequences will not include tea with the Headmaster."

"Look here," grated Harry, "I don't much care what-" He stopped abruptly, and took a deep breath to control his temper. "No, I didn't get help," he said quietly. "I just didn't want to waste too much time talking about theory."

Harry rummaged about in his bag and produced a scroll, which he handed to Snape.

"I shall go over this later, when I have time," Snape stated, pocketing it in his cloak. Harry raised an eyebrow, and Snape sighed. "It's charmed to shrink anything I care to put there," he explained. "Must you always think like a Muggle?"

Harry set his jaw, and said nothing. Snape gave him a steady look and said, "As you claim to be quite prepared with theory, let us try practice. You are to attack me, Potter, with Legilimency. I want you to pay attention not only to the mechanics of your attack, but to my defense."

Snape moved to the center of the room, threw his cloak over his shoulder, and braced his feet. "Begin."

Harry shifted his wand about in his hand as he got into position opposite Snape. Harry waited a moment, before suddenly slashing his wand to the left intoning, "Legilimens!"

Harry stared into Snape's eyes fixedly, channeling the magic through them into the darkness of his professor's mind. Suddenly, the room no longer existed, and all Harry could see was a black wall of negative Magic – Snape's defenses. Harry narrowed his eyes, and contemplated simply barreling into the barrier, but then thought that was just what Snape would expect. He skirted his Spell towards the far corner of the Snape's blockade, and tried to slip around it. He nearly succeeded, but Snape realized what the boy's intention, and ejected his Magic with such force that Harry was thrown across the room.

With the spell broken, Harry shook his head to clear it and then looked back at Snape. He wasn't sure what to expect, beyond annoyance, frustration or anger. What he did see surprised him. The look of satisfaction on his Professor's face was unnerving.

"It seems you weren't just looking through the book for the pictures," said Snape with finality, stepping forward and reaching out a hand to help Harry back to his feet.

Harry blinked. Snape was supposed to be angry at his success, or belittle his efforts. Snape would mock Harry's weakness, not hold out a hand to help him up. A smile of satisfaction was out of place on his face, and ought to have been a sneer. Confused at his Professor's change of attitude, Harry nevertheless took his hand, and pulled himself to his feet.

There was a silence as Harry struggled to think of something to say. "Thank you," didn't seem appropriate, and saying something along the lines of "it's good to see you not being a git," would be suicide.

Snape smiled enigmatically, and leaned against the opposite wall, regarding Harry almost lazily with half closed eyes. "Tell me what went through your mind when you attacked. How did you use your advantages?"

"Well, I had several things to my disadvantage as well," said Harry trying to keep his thoughts in a logical order. "I know you to a certain extent, and so I could imagine in advance what sort of attack you were expecting. I know your method of attack from before, and I know memories you find painful that I could use to weaken your defense."

"All of which facilitated your attack," remarked Snape serenely. "What factors weakened it?"

"To begin with, you were expecting the attack, and therefore had put your defenses in place before I could penetrate your mind. You know me, and therefore could anticipate how I was likely to attack. I subverted that, by deducing that you knew that, and going around instead of head on, as I suspect you anticipated I would."

Snape blinked. "Do you mind repeating that, Potter? It was slightly garbled."

Harry grimaced. "Er... let's just say my disadvantage was that you were prepared and were familiar with my more reckless qualities."

Snape nodded. "Continue."

"Also to my disadvantage was the fact that you are very skilled at both Occlumency and Legilimency, whereas I am unskilled at both."

"You are acknowledging your weaknesses," said Snape. "Good, that's the first step in overcoming them."

Harry nodded. "I think that's all."

"Very well," said Snape, sliding back from the wall, and returning to the center of the room. "Now apply those principles to your defense. Legilimens!"

Harry gritted his teeth as he felt Snape's prying magic delve into his mind. He shut his eyes, and concentrated on the mental image of a Beater's bat, with which he repelled Snape's invasion.

Harry opened his eyes, and was greeted by Snape's sardonic smile. "I ought to have known you'd apply Quidditch logic, even to this. I believe we've done enough for tonight. By next week, I expect you to be able to repel me with your eyes opened. If the Dark Lord tries to attack your mind while in the midst of a battle like the one at the Department of Mysteries, closing your eyes to concentrate on Occluding could quite possibly be fatal."

"Yes, Sir," said Harry. "Anything else?"

Snape put his head to one side and considered. "You'll want to get yourself simpler robes," he said. "Those sleeves can get in the way."

Harry blinked in surprise, and nodded. "You can have the books back, sir. I've read them."

"You took notes, I hope?" asked Professor Snape.

"Yes, Sir," nodded Harry, handing his books to his Professor.

"Don't leave your notes lying about, and burn them as soon as possible," ordered Snape. "Dismissed."

Harry grabbed his bag, and disappeared through the door and down the corridor, wondering for the hundredth time whether he was actually doing the right thing by trusting Snape as much as he was.

Snape smiled silkily as he ran a finger down the spine of the Legilimency text. At last it was his. He wondered, idly, if it was worth the bother of teaching and being civil to Potter. He would read it as soon as he'd finalized Philomena's Potion. With her life possibly on the line, she had priority over his personal studies and safety. Pocketing the book in his cloak, he banished the others to his rooms, and made his way back to his lab.


	26. Antidotes and Counterspells

**Antidotes and Counterspells**

Snape had several diagrams spread out over one of the worktables in his laboratory. To the casual observer, they were worth nothing and seemed to be gibberish, but to a fellow Potions Master, a Mediwizard, or even a forensics expert, they would make a certain measure of sense.

Each chart detailed a myriad of facts, possibilities, and problems. There were lists of ingredients likely to have adverse reactions, lists of possible side effects, dosage calculations, and an effectivity prognosis. There were diagrams of blood type and the strength of Philomena's Magical Immune System; tables full of lists of the reactions of different ingredients to each other.

From these Snape had managed to calculate twenty possible combinations for a possible antidote. That was progress from the hours he'd spent merely preparing the charts, and triple checking all of his results.

Snape scratched a quick arithmetical problem on a scrap of parchment. The twenty possibilities would take ten hours to brew. Testing would probably take another five hours, if all went well. Snape rubbed his temples and hoped to Merlin that at least one of them would work. He didn't want to be the one to tell Philomena there was no Antidote.

"Damn the man," he growled, adding three hours to compare the possible solutions left to each other and to choose a final Potion, then another four or so hours to fine-tune it. "I should be able to do it in time," he muttered, "provided the Dark Lord doesn't decided to make a nuisance of himself."

XXXX

Pacing the length of his office, Albus kept half an eye on the Scrying Mirror on the mantle. Severus was apparently still hard at work on his secret project. As he scratched a short addition problem out on a scrap of parchment, and muttered something. Albus wished for the hundredth time that the Mirror could convey sound. Albus sighed, as he watched Severus rise from the desk, and begin to prepare several large cauldrons. "I hope to Merlin you know what you're doing, my boy," he whispered, "for all our sakes."

XXXX

After nearly half an hour of searching for his frogs, Remus Lupin decided he had better not skip preliminary testing after all. With a growl of frustration, he brought his notes out again, his favorite Dictionary of Magical Formulae, and began a torturous series of Arithmancy calculations, complete with graphs.

Hours later, when he'd corrected several minor flaws, he returned to his laboratory to find his tank of frogs right where it ought to have been. He blinked, checked the frogs for signs of Magical tampering, found none, and got back to work. Philomena smiled, refilled his teacup, and said nothing.

XXXX

Rabastan sighed, and looked at the two containers of blood in front of him. One contained Snape's sample, the other the Dark Lord's. They were both in a rather nasty state of congealment, and he wasn't at all sure that was what was supposed to happen.

Rabastan scowled, and returned his attention to the notes Dolohov had left him. They seemed far neater than usual. Perhaps Dolohov _had _gotten Malfoy to help with the project. With a growl of frustration, he recast the Anticoagulant Spell and wondered how Dolohov had managed it.

XXXX

Severus eliminated fifteen possible combinations, and resignedly started a base mixture for the remaining five. He was completely engrossed in his work, and had lost all sense of time and place as he prepared ingredients for addition once the base was ready.

The combinations that had failed testing had been Evanescoed to oblivion, save for a small sample of each for Severus' notes. If he hadn't been angry about their not testing positive, he would noticed what a pretty line of gradated orange, red, and pink they made.

Snape worked silently, going about each operation in the process with a focus second to none. Watching from his office, Dumbledore couldn't help but wonder whether Severus ever had hummed, or talked to himself.

Snape couldn't help but wonder who it was that had his laboratory under surveillance, and how exactly they had managed it. He carefully positioned his notes so that they could not be read from the direction Severus sensed his watcher, and made sure to work on enough different mixtures at once to avoid his goal from being divined.

XXXX

Remus tested his Counter Spells; and found he still had much revision to do. "The Counterspell is ideal if the color is a complement of the color of the original Spell," muttered Remus. "I knew something was missing..."

Philomena watched her father from the couch. He was as focused as he'd been before she'd interrupted him, so absorbed that he hardly noticed what he was saying. She watched in confusion as Remus began to sketch rapidly with various different colored inks.

"This orange is tertiary making it less than ideal," he muttered. "What I really need is a violet, preferably a secondary shade."

Philomena blinked, and decided she needed to find a text on Chromatic Theory. Apparently, color had far more influence on Spells than she'd guessed.

XXXX

Snape had narrowed his search down to three possible formulae. It was four in the morning, Tuesday. "Twenty hours," he thought to himself, "before I'll have to redo the Spells and the Potion to prevent the girl's death."

Snape made a quick mental calculation, subtracting his class times, and allowing for incidentals including Dumbledore, the Dark Lord, the Boy Who Lived, and allowing leeway for traveling. He was left with roughly seven hours of work time, provided he didn't fall asleep over his cauldrons.

Downing his third Pepper Up, he reminded himself mentally not to take tea, as the caffeine would react badly with the arnica.

XXXX

Remus let out a cry of triumph as his Spells tested positive, even the third one, which he had nearly forgotten to do. It had been the most difficult, considering that the only information he had was the color, and the effect. Iuvenari, as he had determined, was a fairly weak Incantation, which was why Ralf had needed to have it reinforced by the secondary Incantations and the Potion.

"I have it!" he crowed, barely refraining from dancing about the room. "It's finished!" Quickly he grabbed the least scribbled on bit of parchment in the room and dashed off a note to Snape to let him know of the development.

He whistled shrilly, calling the school owl Albus had lent him. She took off with the note, and Remus settled into his chair to wait for Philomena to wake up. Six in the morning, he'd decided, was an unacceptable time for anybody to go to sleep.

XXXX

Snape smiled in satisfaction as he added Remus' information to his notes. Knowing which Spells had been used to reinforce the original Potion helped greatly to narrow down possible Antidotes. After several lengthy Arithmancy problems, he was left with a single Potion.

He stared thoughtfully at the burbling contents of Cauldron Six, before bottling samples of the others, and disposing of the excess. "Five hours," he thought to himself, "Five hours."

XXXX

Philomena noted that her father was particularly groggy that morning, and made sure not to comment on his occasional nodding off. She noted as well, that he continually watched either the window or the Floo in the corner of his eye.

Remus was nervous, wishing Snape had at least somehow acknowledged receipt of Remus' news. As it was, he had no way of knowing how far Snape's research had progressed, or whether it was at all possible to cure his daughter that day.

He knew that Snape had classes and work to attend to, that these duties would naturally distract him from his research, but that didn't prevent Remus from constantly wondering what the man was up to, and when he would receive word.

XXXX

By six in the evening, Snape had tested his Formula to exhaustion, modifying it until he was sure that there was only a token probability of negative effects. Allowing himself to smile, he bottled the final Potion that he had decided to call VeraAetas.

He pocketed the calculated dosage, and made his way up to Filch's office. A quick bargain ensured that his Remedial Class would not go unsupervised, and Snape used Filch's fireplace to Floo himself to Lupin's cottage.

Falling out into the hearth, Snape quickly righted himself, and brushed the ash from his cloak. "Good evening, Lupin," he said curtly, stepping into the room.

"Severus," cried Remus, practically leaping off the couch towards the man. "Did you get my note? Have you finished your research? Do you have an"-5

"Control yourself, Lupin, please," interrupted Severus, automatically stepping backwards at Remus' onslaught, "Yes I got your note, and a pity you aren't my student, or I'd have taken points for sloppiness. Yes, I have finished my research, and if I didn't have an Antidote I wouldn't have bothered to come here in person. I suggest we get this done now. We don't want to push our luck with the time."

"Yes, of course," said Remus. "Which shall we do first? The Charms of the Potion?"

"Charms," said Severus immediately. "The Potion's effect is to eliminate her present Form and restore her True one. The Charms are what are holding her present Form in place and depressing the other."

Philomena, having heard Severus come in, descended the stairs, and looked expectantly from one man to the other. "Well?" she said, "shall we get started?"

"I'm going to cast the Counterspells now," explained Remus. "And then you are to take the Antidote."

Snape withdrew the vial from his cloak. "It may not look very nice," he remarked idly, "but it should taste vaguely like cinnamon, and the pain should be minimal."

"Thank heaven for small favors," muttered Remus sarcastically. "Minimal? How much is 'minimal'?"

"Not enough to bother adding Nightshade," said Snape dryly.

"Ready?" asked Remus, drawing his wand.

She nodded and he began. Snape watched with pursed eyebrows, as Remus brought his wand about in a bewildering series of twirls, while chanting three distinct series of Spells. The light was uncomfortably bright, the first burst being violet, followed closely by a blue green, and a flash of amber.

Philomena staggered backwards, and clutched her head. "Itches," she groaned. "Under my skin... Trying to get out..."

Snape pressed the Potion into her hand. "I suggest you go to your room, and take that. You'll be all right."

Philomena took the vial and disappeared up the stairs without another word. Snape shifted uncomfortably under Remus baleful gaze. "Don't look at me like that, Lupin," he snapped. "I simply thought the girl would like a little ... privacy. All things considered, it would be highly embarrassing..."

Snape trailed off, as they heard a thump from upstairs. Remus made a move for the stairs, but Snape grabbed his arm to stop him. "Leave her be, Lupin," he ordered, pushing the man into a chair. "She is fine. Give her a bit of time to accustomed to things."

"But," protested Remus, "what if she's-"

"She is fine," insisted Snape, "If she weren't I'm sure she'd have yelled before now. Ideally, yes, I would have somebody with her, but neither of us is female, and it would be highly inappropriate to-"

"That is quite enough," interrupted Remus. "You're right."

Snape sighed and sank onto the couch. "Merlin, I wish I could have some tea right now," he muttered.

Remus jumped up and headed for the kitchen. "You only had to ask," he said. "I'll be glad to-"

"I can't," sighed Snape. "Pepper-Up overdose. Been up since... seven thirty in the morning yesterday."

"I'm sorry," said Remus, returning to the room.

"No need to be," returned Snape. "It isn't your fault. It's simply a combination of problems falling at the same time. If you don't mind, I should like to stay until your daughter has sorted herself out so I can be sure she is fine. The possibility of adverse reactions is negligible, but I should like to be on hand in case of an anomaly."

"Quite alright," said Remus, reseating himself. "I don't know how to thank you for everything you've done."

"You will," smiled Snape, tapping the pin at his throat. "You assuredly will."


	27. Pure Blood Politics and Potions Results

**Pure Blood Politics and Potions Results **

Remus sat on the couch beside Snape and tried very hard not to fidget. Snape had leaned back, propped his feet on the coffee table, and looked half asleep. Remus knew that startling a man like Severus out of his doze was a Bad Idea. "Severus?" he asked cautiously.

The man murmured something indistinct in reply, blinking blearily.

"How long should it take?" asked Remus. "She's been up there..."

"For ten minutes," answered Snape, coming to himself and checking the time. "The change should take a good half hour."

"Half an_ hour?" _asked Remus, starting up. "But _why?_"

"I'm a Potion's Master," said Snape dryly, "not a miracle man. Think about it, Lupin. She's undergoing a complete change of Physiology. If it happened faster it would be unbelievably painful. I made the formula such that it minimized pain, and that unfortunately necessitated lengthening the activation time."

Lupin simply blinked at him. Severus continued, "You're no stranger to abrupt changes in Physiology. The Change from human to salivating monster is, I understand, quite painful. This is not quite as jarring to the body, being simply an aging process, which the body and mind have both been intending for some time. However, it is none the less an undertaking best not rushed."

"Will she be all right?" asked Remus, trying hard not to bolt out of his chair.

"I think you ought to have asked that before I gave it to her," remarked Snape snidely. "Calm yourself, Lupin. I'm sure you have complete confidence in your work. I assure you, I have tested that Potion to exhaustion, and it shall be perfectly all right."

Remus took a deep breath, and tried to calm himself down. "I'm sorry," he said. "It's... I'm very protective of her."

Snape nodded. "Understandable. She is your daughter, after all."

Remus sighed. "It's odd, you know. I never thought I'd actually have a child. After Ralf left and I thought I'd killed her, I mean. After that I was sure I didn't want children, and would make a horrid father. But..."

"I'm sure she's wormed her way into your heart," said Snape. "Perfectly normal. It's called family."

Remus pursed his eyebrows, wondering just what had set such a bitter edge on Snape's words. "Have you... have you ever wanted a family?" he asked. "I know you never married, but..."

"And there's my problem," said Snape tightly, "I never married."

"I'm sorry," said Remus quickly. "I didn't mean to-"

"Do stop apologizing, Lupin," snapped Severus. "It's grating on my nerves."

"Sorry," said Remus, before wincing.

Snape smirked at him. "Not that bright are you?" he sniped caustically. "To answer your previous question, I have, on occasion, thought that a child would ... be nice."

"Really?" asked Remus. "What would you have wanted?"

"Oh, the usual type, Lupin," continued Snape easily. "Pale, bawling, and about this big." Severus spread his hands in a vague gesture and Remus' eyebrows disappeared into his hairline.

"Er… just how much of that Pepper-Up have you taken?" Remus asked with a sudden concern.

Snape shrugged. "Enough to make an idiot of myself apparently."

"Why didn't you?" asked Remus after a while. "Get married, I mean."

Snape raised an eyebrow at him. "Why do you think?" he spat acidly.

Remus cringed, barely stopping himself from saying he was sorry again. "I... I suppose it does make sense. With all that you were doing, I'm sure you wouldn't want to put a family at risk, and..."

"Don't be an idiot," snapped Snape. "It wasn't _my _decision. It's got nothing to do with your Gryffindor nobility. It's simply that I... it was Mordred, really."

"Your brother?" muttered Remus, betraying his shock and confusion, "but... what?"

"He was my _elder _brother," Snape said, as though that explained everything.

"I don't see what that has to do with it," admitted Remus.

Snape gave an exasperated sigh, and got to his feet. "Have you ever heard of Primogeniture?" he asked.

"Of course," answered Remus. "The tradition of the eldest son inheriting."

"Yes," said Snape acidly. "And have you ever heard of the Inheritance Act of 1745?"

Remus blinked in confusion. "I'm afraid I haven't."

"It states, amongst other idiocy, that Squibs may not inherit, nor may they considered the Paterfamilias."

Remus blinked blankly.

Snape slipped easily into his classroom persona. "My older brother was six when I was born. I was a second son, unwanted, unplanned for, and in general, a nuisance to my family.

"However, when my brother reached the ripe age of eleven, without showing any sign of Magic whatsoever, things took a decidedly different turn. My brother was useless. Every test showed the same unwanted result. He was a Squib.

"It was a horrific time. The family tried their best to hide their shame. Of course, after years of flaunting and fawning over their perfect son, hiding him wasn't exactly easy. They kept him inside, claimed he had gone to a foreign school.

"When I began to show signs of magic things became worse. My parents were less than pleased. Their _first _son was supposed to be perfect, they couldn't care less what happened to me.

"There was some talk of simply eliminating Mordred, thereby having a proper heir, but I believe my Mother was a trifle too fond of him for that to be an option. Thus Mordred grew up, as did I.

"No pure blood in their right mind would allow their daughter to think of marrying the second son of a family as powerful as ours, and my parents would never have stood for their son marrying a girl of questionable lineage.

"Quite simply, Lupin, I was not considered... eligible. No father would let his daughter marry me, knowing there was a good chance I would never inherit the Snape title, or wealth. Matters only worsened when, one summer, about third year, Mordred escaped my parents' tight control and disappeared into the Muggle world.

"I shall always suspect that somehow they knew what help I'd given him, and that we were still in contact with each other. Matters were now complicated in the extreme, especially on my brother's eighteenth birthday, at which point, according to tradition, he should have officially been announced as joint Lord with my father. This was in my second or third year at Hogwarts.

"My parents could not acknowledge Mordred's ineligibility had they so desired; they were at an impasse. They could not claim me as their heir without Mordred's presence, and they could not instate Mordred, as he wasn't there, and even if he had been, the initiation ceremony requires a magical signature.

"It was a fiasco. As my father's cousin moved in to the kill he demanded my brother be initiated, and of course, my father couldn't do that. He then claimed that as my brother had run away from home before being instated my father had no right to claim him as an heir. I was still out of the question.

"My father had no choice at this point, but to declare his cousin heir presumptuous. Mordred was, still is, considered, 'missing,' and has the right to inherit if were he to resurface. He won't though, considering that he died at twenty-five. My parents have no knowledge of this, and still resent me for not revealing his location to them.

"Therefore, I am resented from all sides. My parents hate the fact that I am preventing them from instating an heir of their blood by hiding Mordred. My father's cousin, of course, sees me as a threat to his claim. I am still ineligible to marry any pureblood, and with the complication of the Dark Lord I can't consider any other match."

Snape, finished, fell into the nearest chair and put his head in his hands. Remus took a deep breath, and asked, "What if you revealed your brother's death? Wouldn't that automatically put you first in line?"

Snape sighed. "If I reveal his death, I'd have to prove it. If I proved it, it would also bring to light the record of his marriage and the birth of his sons. They come before me in the line, being sons of the first son. They negate any claim I might have. If they were Wizards, they would inherit. As they are not, by the Inheritance Act, two generations of Squibs in the line proves that it is unsound, and the title must revert to the next of kin of the last Wizard to have held it. In other words, my father's cousin. I couldn't care less about my own title or status, and while I know my father does not deserve it, his cousin deserves it even less.

"So, you see, I am at an impasse when it comes to marriage- legal marriage, that is."

Remus frowned. "I don't think legality would stop you if you really wanted to," he said at last. "You've hidden greater things from You-Know-Who before."

"Yes," sighed Snape, "but unfortunately, when a woman is already married, it does put a damper on things."

Remus' eyes widened, but seeing the look on Severus' face, he knew better than to ask to whom he was referring. An uncomfortable silence fell, as Remus didn't know what to say, and Snape regretted saying what he had.

Philomena chose that moment to stumble down the stairs. Snape got to his feet awkwardly, as Remus jumped up and ran towards her, catching her elbow to prevent her from falling.

Remus stared at his daughter for a moment. "You've grown," he said at last.

Snape made an impatient noise at the back of his throat. "That was the general idea, Lupin."

Philomena certainly had grown; she was nearly as tall as her father. Remus was struck again with her likeness to his mother. "Are you all right?" he asked.

"Yes," she answered slowly. "I feel ... right."

"No discomfort?" asked Snape.

"A little," she said, "but that's mostly trying to get used to being this tall."

Snape grimaced. "I do believe I know the feeling, Ms. Lupin."

"You'd better sit down," said Remus hurriedly leading her to the couch. "Sort yourself out."

"If I may say so," said Snape, "you look quite... well."

"Because your potion worked quite well," she answered sincerely. "Thank you."

Before Snape could protest she had given him a hug. "I'll never be able to thank you enough," she said, stumbling to give her father a hug as well, "Either of you."

"That is quite alright," said Snape, blinking.

Philomena faltered to the couch, letting herself fall onto it. She began to stare at her hands with fascination, marveling how long her fingers had become. Remus took a deep breath, then did what he usually did in a crisis. He offered to make tea.

"She shouldn't have tea," said Snape, preventing him yet again, "for at least a day."

Stifling a groan, Remus reseated himself beside his daughter. "I'll need to get back to the School," said Snape after an uncomfortable pause. "There's only so much time I can explain away as a meeting without causing suspicion."

"You can say you were with me," said Remus. "According to your own rules of misdirection, that should cause him to believe you weren't here. Besides, I'm sure he's noticed you've been working on something, and to stave off inquiries, you can say you were giving me some help on the Warding Project."

"Very well," agreed Snape. "I shall see you both soon, I trust."

"Thank you again, Mr. Snape," said Philomena. "And when you have time, I'd still like those Potions lessons you promised."

Snape gave a distracted nod as he headed for the fireplace. "Severus," Remus quickly joined him. "I know you don't want my thanks," he said. "I know you'll just say you'll get returns. I know you'd rather you hadn't said anything a while ago, and the last thing you want is my pity or..."

Remus trailed off as Snape stared at him. Abruptly he stuck out his hand. "Good luck, Severus," he said.

Snape pursed his eyebrows, seemingly at a loss for a moment. Philomena caught his eye and nodded. Snape sucked in a shuddering breath and eventually took Remus' hand. "It was my pleasure," he said quietly, before dropping Remus' hand, and Flooing away.

Remus stared at the green flames as Snape crackled out of sight. "I did it," he said softly. "I shook Snape's hand and I'm still alive."

Philomena blinked. "Why shouldn't you be?"

Remus sighed heading back to her. "We have a bad history," he said at last. "It's... complicated, and... I'm sure he'd not want you to know."

She looked down at herself ruefully. "This is going to take some getting used to. For once I'm glad for these ridiculous robes. Being children's they're charmed to change with growth... but I believe this has put a bit of a strain on them."

"I'll see about getting you fitted out again," Remus assured her.

"No need," she said quickly, having figured out that money was a touchy subject with him. "I can transfigure them."

He looked at her in surprise. She sighed. "It's no use keeping it a secret, I suppose. I've done wandless Magic for a long while."

Remus shook his head to clear it and stared at his daughter. "Yes," he said at last, "this will take some getting used to."


	28. Plots Within Plots

**Plots Within Plots**

Narcissa Malfoy was tired of her husband leaving and not telling her where he was going. Being called by the Dark Lord was one thing, but simply disappearing at three in the morning was a bit much for her to be expected to accept gracefully.

Disgruntled at being awaked by her husband's departure, she decided she'd endured enough. Slipping on her dressing gown, she padded out of the bedroom, through the chilly halls, to her husband's lab. Smiling grimly to herself, Narcissa wondered if Lucius even remembered half of the equipment he had, considering that he seldom, if ever, used it himself.

"Let's just hope to Merlin he's forgotten about the Scrying Mirror," she muttered to herself, setting it up and keying it to Lucius. "Activare."

The surface of the mirror swirled wildly as it sought and image. Lady Malfoy leaned back in her chair and waited, contemplating what she'd do to her husband if she caught him in an untoward situation.

XXXX

Rabastan had already left the lab for the night. Antonin grimaced as he went over what they had succeeded in so far. Rabastan had indeed got quite far.

Antonin looked at the containers of blood and wrinkled his nose in disgust. Surprisingly, they looked identical, excepting for the labels. Antonin sighed, and wondered whether all blood looked the same. If one couldn't tell the difference between Lord Voldemort's Blood and the blood of a servant of his, could one tell the difference between Pure Blood and Half Blood; between Half Blood and Mudblood? Sans the magical Essence attached, could one even tell Magical Blood from Muggle?

Both samples looked rather the worse for the wear, and he didn't want to think of what would happen if he dared to ask for more from either party. "We're so close," he muttered under his breath. "Pity we have to sabotage it."

"Quite," said Malfoy silkily, entering the room. "A pity, yes. Or it would be, if we could figure out a way to do it."

Antonin sighed. "I suppose Snape could find a solution. He has worked with Blood Magic before, and as I remember he was quite good at it, and expert in fact. The fool gave it up for his Potions Mastery."

Lucius nodded thoughtfully. "Yes," he mused. "We'll have to get Severus to ruin it for us. If he can't do it, nobody can. Powerful man, Severus is, eh what?"

Antonin shrugged. "Quite powerful," he agreed. "Best of the best."

"Too powerful," said Lucius suddenly. "Far to powerful. We'll have to ... do something about that."

"Beg pardon?" asked Antonin, looking up from his work in surprise. Had Lucius just suggested harming their ally?

Lucius stared long and hard into Antonin's eyes. "He's the only one who can remove the present problem, and he's the only one of us close enough to Potter and Dumbledore. He's the only one who can manipulate the pair of them. We need Severus now to remove all obstacles to our elimination of the Dark Lord. Later, Dolohov, we will need to eliminate Severus."

"Eliminate?" Antonin's eyes widened in fear, but he dared not look away.

"Yes." Lucius' voice was like iron in velvet. "Severus is too powerful. Too powerful by half. When the Dark Lord is killed, I'm sure his old ambition will come back into force. He won't want to rule alone, and we won't be able to keep him in check."

"So you want to..."

"We have to kill him," said Malfoy. "Once he's figured out the solution for the Blood Magic, and Dumbledore is dead. Only Snape has the finesse needed to manipulate our Lord into doing anything, and persuading him to kill Dumbledore before Potter will be a challenge. After Dumbledore's death, we need him to keep Potter in a fit state to kill our Lord. After that..."

Antonin took a deep shuddering breath. "How?" he asked.

"I'm sure an opportunity will present itself," Lucius remarked with little concern. "And what's to say that in the confusion of a battle, or through some Ministry blunder, a tragic accident..."

"I see," said Antonin quickly. "I suppose... you're right." He bent his head slightly, avoiding Malfoy's gaze. He told himself he was doing the right thing. Those who disagreed with murder plots generally became the subject of them.

"Great minds think alike," purred Malfoy. "I'm glad you agree. And when the time comes, our rule will truly be one of greatness. Now, I'm sure you have to be getting home. It is rather late, is it not?"

Antonin understood he'd been dismissed. He stood up, feigning just the right slightly apologetic look and said, "It is, Malfoy. So sorry to go off like this but I truly _do _need to be getting to bed. There's only so much Pepper-up a man can take, after all. Good night."

Malfoy smiled to himself as Antonin shuffled out. "Good night, Dolohov," he called. "And if you see Severus in the near future ask him for his advice on that Blood Project- or at least for access to his library."

"I shall do so," Antonin said over his shoulder. "Good night."

Antonin disappeared round the corner. Malfoy's smile widened as he saw that, as he'd intended, Antonin had left the notes out on the desk. He shuffled through them quickly. "They've managed it after all," he thought to himself. "Or very nearly."

Malfoy pulled out watch and gave it a glance before stuffing it back into his inner robe pocket. "Ten minutes before Severus arrives," he muttered to himself. "I hope to Merlin the two don't meet in the hall."

Both Malfoys waited impatiently until Severus appeared in the doorway. "Good evening, Lucius," he said softly.

Lucius started violently, and cursed loudly in French. "Damn you, Severus," he finally managed. "How _do _you manage to sneak up without making any noise?"

Snape smirked. "It's a combination of my ability, practice and charisma."

Malfoy frowned. "Severus," he said. "I need your help."

Severus raised an eyebrow. "What, you? Need help? Who are you, and what have you done with my cousin?"

Malfoy gave an exasperated sigh, and got to his feet. "Severus," he said. "I don't trust Dolohov."

Snape raised both eyebrows. "Really? From the way you were plotting treason with him a while back I rather thought you did. My mistake."

"Severus Snape, you _will _take me seriously, or so help me I'll sic a gorgon on you," threatened Malfoy. "I am in _no _mood for your humor."

"Gorgon?" asked Snape. "Your wife, you mean?"

Malfoy relaxed enough to smile. "She's more of a harpy, Severus," he said. "But, in all seriousness, Dolohov... look at the work he's been doing. Remember our Plan? To make _sure _that the Blood Magic Project failed? I realize we hadn't figured out a single way to do that, none of us are as expert as Blood Magic as you, but you'd think he'd have stopped actively working on it at least!"

Malfoy gathered up the entire pile of notes and shoved them at Snape. Snape looked at them with a detached air of interest, flipping through them at random.

"Calm yourself, Lucius," said Snape carelessly. "For this you've called me from my well earned sleep? Rabastan isn't completely stupid, and Antonin knows that because _he _isn't completely stupid. Antonin can't just stop working on the project, or Rabastan will become suspicious, perhaps even report his disobedience to the Dark Lord."

"Snape," sighed Malfoy, "you don't understand. I've been watching this room lately. Rabastan hasn't been here for the past week. Antonin has been, and continued to spend long hours here in spite of our agreement."

Snape returned the notes. "Funny, then," he said carelessly, "that the notes happen to be written in Rabastan's handwriting."

Malfoy silently cursed himself for not finding out how well Snape knew the others before putting his plan into action. "I didn't say he'd written them," he lied smoothly. "I said he was _working _with them. Look at what a state that blood is in. He's obviously been trying to work with it."

"Tamper with it more like," said Snape dryly. "It's congealed. We both know you can't use it for anything when it gets like that."

"Perhaps he intended to use it in powdered form, in which case he would have needed it to clot and dry first," said Malfoy, thinking fast.

"Perhaps you are getting paranoid in your old age," returned Snape easily. "There's obviously nothing wrong. Relax, Lucius. All we're doing is undermining the entire structure of the world, and setting ourselves up as its supreme rulers. Nothing to worry about, really. Honestly, man, you've faced your wife. Surely you can face a little intrigue without having kittens?"

"I do not have the jitters" snapped Malfoy. "I am simply... suspicious."

Snape shrugged. "Then wait until your suspicions have some ghost of proof," returned Snape. "In all seriousness, Malfoy, for a moment I thought you were going to suggest we murder Dolohov on the eve of our wedding night so to speak."

Malfoy turned an interesting shade of red. "I meant nothing of the sort," he said hotly. "I was simply..."

"You do realize what happened in the last really noted Triumvirate?" asked Severus lazily. "It consisted of Pompey, Caesar, and Crassus. Crassus was killed in some unimportant skirmish or other. Pompey and Caesar ended up struggling with each other for ultimate power, ultimately plunging Rome into civil war. Caesar received Pompey's head as a 'gift.'"

"What are you trying to say, Snape?" asked Malfoy icily. "What relevance has any of that tripe?"

"That tripe is history, Malfoy." Snape's voice was deathly calm, his eyes betraying not a flicker of emotion. "They may have been Muggle, but that only makes them easier to analyze. What I mean to say is that in the end it won't be _my _head on that platter"

Without another word Snape left the room with a swish of his cloak. Malfoy seemed about to shout something after him for a moment, but resorted instead to banging his fist on the table in frustration, causing both jars of blood to rattle ominously.

XXXXX

From her post, Narcissa frowned in anger. Her husband, her Lucius was plotting the death of Snape, and apparently Dolohov as well. Not only that, but he was planning on overthrowing the Dark Lord himself. Worst of all, he had dared to compare her to a harpy.

"You'll pay," she promised her husband's image. "You devious hypocrite, a brilliant plot, in a way, but I simply _can't _let it come to completion. How _dare _you plot against our Lord?"

Knowing he would be back soon, she quickly deactivated the mirror, and rearranged everything back as it had been. When her husband arrived back home, he found her fast asleep.


	29. Magic of the Heart

**Magic of the Heart **

Remus watched from the doorway as Philomena surveyed herself critically in the mirror, trying to get used to the way she looked. She grimaced and performed a quick altering charm on the cut of her robes. She surveyed the results with her head to one side.

"Tighten it about the waist," said Remus, startling her. "Make the skirts fuller, and pleated."

She whirled about, embarrassed. Remus smiled reassuringly. "It's perfectly understandable," he said easily. "After having to look at the same reflection for a good six years."

Philomena gave an embarrassed smile and turned back to the mirror. "You think so?"

Remus shrugged. "Of course," he said.

She turned back to the mirror and made the alterations he'd suggested. "Like that?" she asked, unsure.

"It's a popular style," laughed Remus, "but I shan't let you out of the house looking as good as all that unless you're armed with a club."

Philomena grimaced. "Not that I'd be able to use one," she muttered. "Never was any good at self defense. In any form."

Remus' eyebrows disappeared into his hairline. "No good at self defense?" he repeated. "But…"

She sighed exasperatedly, stepping away from the mirror and sinking onto the couch. "If I could defend myself would I have spent six years in a child's body? Let them bleed me?"

"I'll admit I wondered about that," said Remus carefully. "When I saw what control you had without a wand…"

"That's just it," she snapped. "Control."

"Did Ralf use his connection to-"

"No, no." She waived an exasperated hand. "He didn't need to. It's… I can't use magic when I'm frightened."

Remus frowned. "But… on the full moon, you…"

"I didn't," she insisted. "Not until we were outside. When I felt safe."

Running a hand through his hair, Remus sat himself opposite her. "I think I told you that I teach Defense," he said. "And I want you to know that… fear is something so fundamental that it cannot be eliminated. Everybody has fear. Even the Dark Lord, I am sure, is afraid of something.

"One cannot … hide from fear. One must learn to compensate for, to function in spite of, fear. Courage is not a matter of being fearless, but of facing one's worst fears. One must recognize one's fears, so that one can learn how to-"

He came abruptly out of his lecture mode when he heard a bitter laugh which was almost a sob. "You don't understand," she grated out. "When I'm frightened my Magic leaves. It's physically gone."

"Physically?"

"I feel it," she insisted. "You'll think I'm mad, but I can feel my magic. It's… it's like a ball of energy in my heart. When I use it, it heats up, and warms me through. When I haven't used it, it grows cold, like ice. When I'm afraid- it's gone. It melts…"

"I'm afraid I don't understand," said Remus confusedly. "No matter what your abilities, Philomena, or lack of them, I promise I'll help you develop them. I knew when you first told me that your Magic wasn't normal, considering that Wandless Magic is not a human gift. It is probably the effect of being born to a Werewolf, and as Snape told me, your Physiology is slightly mutated… It is indeed possible that your Magic is bound to a physical core, much like mine is usually channeled through the core of my wand."

She shuddered. "It's a weakness," she said. "I suppose it wouldn't matter if I wasn't such a coward. It sometimes leaves when I get overly excited over anything."

Remus frowned, considering. "Your heart," he repeated. "Fear and excitement cause an erratic pulse- perhaps that's the reason."

Philomena shrugged. "What difference does it make why my magic leaves? It's not a repairable condition; the fact remains that I'm useless in a fight. Always have been. I've read so many books on Physically Bound Magic, and secretly written to so many Mediwizards, specialists… they all said it couldn't be separated, rebound, changed, or even made to channel through a wand as usual…"

"Philomena," said Remus softly, "You're not useless. You are a powerful woman. Perhaps you are not so in every situation, but that doesn't matter- every man has a weakness. You are a Seer, with the power to control your Visions. You are capable of extremely advanced Wandless Magic. You are a beautiful woman. True, this … stuttering… of your magic will make you unable to do certain things, but I'm sure going into battle is not one of your ambitions, and I'm certain you are capable of fulfilling any other ambition you might have."

She relaxed into a small smile. "Thank you, father," she said. "I… I'm afraid I'm just having trouble getting used to it all. Remembering that it's real. I still wake up some mornings, startled to realize that yes, I live here, and it wasn't a dream. That I can call the Visions, that the Pulses ARE there. That I'm in control of my condition. That…"

"It's not a condition," Remus chided softly. "It is a gift."

Her smile widened. "It wasn't before," she said. "You made it into one. You and Mr. Snape." She leaned on his shoulder and listened to his steady heartbeat. For a long moment, neither said anything.

"Blue," said Remus suddenly.

She lifted her head slightly to look at his face. "What?"

"Give the robe blue trim," he clarified. "Bring out your eyes."

She smiled, and dropped her head back on his shoulder. "I'll think about it. You're not being kept from something volatile in the lab are you?"

He shook his head. "Nothing liable to explode. As a matter of fact, I've finished proving that those cloak pins simply aren't practical. The silver has too much of an unpredictable effect on them- sometimes it leeches the spell, sometimes boosts its power, sometimes causes it to malfunction…"

Philomena grimaced. "They should set them in steel. It's a neutral metal."

Remus nodded. "That, or gold. Gold has strengthening properties, and I don't think it will react badly with the opal. I think the main reason the silver isn't working, is because both it and the opal are Negatively charged… They need an opposite component to work to best effect."

"Negatively?" she asked confusedly. "I thought both were Light elements."

"Yes," he answered, "they're both light. But all Magic, or Energy has either a Positive or a Negative configuration. It's purely a matter of Metaphysics- Positively Configured Elements are compatible with Positively and Negatively configured elements. Negatively Configured Elements are only compatible with Positive."

"I see," she said. "Then why did they set the opal that way? If they knew they wouldn't be compatible."

"That's just it," explained Remus, allowing a bit of his frustration with the project to show through. "They didn't know. The artist who made the collection happens to be Muggle, and hasn't the faintest idea what they're used for. We are required to use Muggle goods, since the Ministry has Bases controlled, and they'd know we're doing unofficial research, for which we'd need a permit if it were official, which we'd never get, because Milo and I are part-human, and the others on the committee aren't exactly in the Ministry's good graces for other reasons. We're also on a tight budget because we just so happen to need to train our forces for a war- which we aren't doing officially either, since officially we aren't at war- which in turn means that we simply can't afford to special order something fancy. We take what we can get."

She frowned thoughtfully. "Ralf dealt with Bases," she mused. "Dark ones mostly, but also the rare ones, or the especially powerful restricted ones which bring in a large profit in spite of being Light Magic. As far as I know, his business is still running strong. He's never had trouble with the ministry, because he's a Squib, and they aren't under the same level of surveillance. I suppose the ministry figures that a non-magical entity is incapable of breaking a magical law…"

Remus' face hardened. "Fools," he grated. "I don't know which is worse, the extent of the spells or their inadequacy. On the one hand we're watched at every turn, and are prevented from doing the most basic things. On the other, it is perfectly possible to implement the same sorts of spells to track Unforgivable curses, and they don't do that."

Philomena sighed. "I'm sorry for bringing that up," she said. "I was just suggesting that you could use a similar angle. A Wizard source is impossible, since it'd be illegal for him to sell it to you. A Muggle source is less than ideal since they don't have the correct product. What you need is a Squib to be your middleman. Legally, they may purchase anything from a Wizard."

Remus laughed. "Not that simple," he said. "I'm quite sure it's against Ministry policy for a Werewolf to own half of the materials we need, and-"

She held up a hand to stop him. "It's not illegal for you to use them. It's illegal for you to _purchase_ them. A Squib is allowed much more freedom in the magical world than a Wizard, which is something I'll never understand. I suppose the Ministry Officials think that simply because they can't operate a dangerous object it ought to be all right for them to have it, buy it, sell it…"

Remus blinked. "However did you get so familiar with Wizarding Law?"

She smiled. "I went through Ralf's legal papers, of course," she said. "I was the one that took care of his filing system and the office. He simply didn't think it would occur to me to actually read them, instead of simply looking at the title and pushing them into alphabetical order."

"You… kept his office?" Remus asked carefully.

"Oh, I didn't do anything illegal," she chided. "I just took care of incoming and outgoing mail, complaints, requests…"

"How large was his organization?" asked Remus suddenly curious. "I knew he had a shop in Knockturn Alley, but-"

She laughed. "Shop in Knockturn Alley," she repeated. "Father, Ralf is not only the head of an international black market. He is head of the _only _international black market. It's the largest criminal organization in the world. He's got a finger in every and any smuggling market possible, wizard and Muggle. Not only that, but he runs several legitimate businesses on the side, including a chain of Banks which operate in every conceivable currency, in every conceivable country."

Remus blanched. "I had no idea…"

Her eyes glittered. "You're not supposed to have an idea. Nobody's supposed to have an idea. Don't misunderstand me- I hate Ralf, and have hated him for quite some time. But I can't help but admire his cunning. Not one member of his organization realizes the scope of it- in fact most of them don't even know there IS an organization. No branch of it has any idea that the same man controls them others. Frankly, I don't know how he's managed to do it."

"Merlin," breathed Remus. "It's got to be _stopped_. The Ministry…"

"They know," said Philomena blandly. "The strange thing is, father, that he manages to do all of these things with complete legality. He's incredibly slippery with the law, knows every last loophole. They can't stop him, because it would be illegal to stop him, even though the things he's doing are absolutely illegal for others."

"He's broken plenty of laws," snapped Remus. "Your treatment for one."

Philomena shook her head. "He was my guardian," she said. "And what he did qualified as 'medical treatment.' The bleeding, and even keeping me in virtual stasis, was officially prescribed by a legitimate doctor as a treatment for the Visions. It did have some relevance, as well- when one's anemic, one's powers are diminished. One isn't physically capable of having a Vision. And if one's body does not mature, the Seer gift cannot mature, thereby essentially guarantying it cannot get 'worse.' Actually, father, I believe the only officially illegal thing he's done is to bite you, and have a daughter."

Remus shook his head in bewilderment. "It's too much to believe."

She nodded. "The sheer scope of it is mind boggling," she agreed. "He is so careful to keep his own hands clean- though his agents and employees are an incredibly corrupt lot. Even if the Ministry were to convict them all, they wouldn't have anything to convict HIM of. Barring your going forward, of course, which you can't because that would implicate yourself as well… no matter how many of his people are taken by the Ministry, he can always find a replacement, or simply cut off that branch, and concentrate on the remaining ones."

Remus wrinkled his brow and considered this.

"I'm sorry," Philomena said suddenly. "I didn't mean to bring any of this up. I just remembered that I do know where you could get the Bases you want. There's a shop in London, run by a Squib. To the Muggles, he's just another jeweler. It's called the Fantastique Boutique…"

"I'm not funding Ralf's international black market," said Remus coldly.

She shook her head. "He doesn't do business with Ralf," she explained. "I know because I've had to post Ralf's bimonthly plea for him to join, and have filed his monthly refusal. From what I can tell, although he isn't completely above board, he has an extreme dislike about working for others."

"I'll look into it," Remus said distractedly.

She sighed. "I'm sorry," she said.

"None of it's your fault," he said firmly. "You couldn't have done anything to prevent it, nor did you willingly do anything for it."

She nodded shakily. "I suppose so."

The Wards rang out, startling them both. The smoke spelled out:

Recognized: The Enigma.

Armed: Wand

Emotion: No Reading Available.

Remus dispelled the smoke with an impatient hand. "Impeccable timing," he grumbled. "Wonder what's gone wrong THIS time."

She jumped up. "I hope he's all right this time," she said. "He wasn't looking to well last time I saw him."

"That would be lack of sleep," agreed Remus. "I do hope he managed to pull himself together over the week. He can't afford a slip up."

She looked at him quizzically, but he didn't think it his place to explain the myriad things that could go wrong if Severus let the smallest thing slip, or made the smallest mistake.

Remus went to open the door for Snape when he knocked softly. "Good evening, Remus," said Severus quietly. "I'm here to collect you for a rather sudden Order Meeting."

"Good evening to you, too," said Remus dryly, thinking that he would have laughed at somebody who suggested a month ago that Severus would voluntarily wish him a good evening. "How bad is it? What happened?"

Snape waived a careless hand. "Oh, nothing deadly," he said. "Just the routine, 'we have a small problem that one of us could solve in ten minutes, but we must discuss every angle of for three days before we eventually get around to doing it."

Remus raised an eyebrow, and led the way back into the living room. Philomena rose when the two entered. "Good evening, Mr. Snape," she said.

Snape smiled at her. "Ms. Lupin," he said, "you are looking quite well."

"As are you," she replied. "I hope you are doing better."

He shrugged. "I don't recall feeling poorly," he said.

She gave Snape a pointed look which he ignored and caused Remus to hide a snigger.

"I'll warn you, Severus," he said, "she takes after my mother, with a demonic bedside manner. She's worse than Poppy when someone's ill."

Philomena turned red and seemed about to defend herself, when Snape cut in with a curt, "We have an Order meeting in half an hour, Lupin. And I suppose I don't need to remind you that this will be the first time Albus has had a chance to talk to you since Ralf came hopping into the last one. He'll have questions, and you need answers."

Remus blanched. "Oh don't tell me you haven't thought about it, Lupin," chided Severus. "You knew all along it was going to happen, and that you weren't going to like it."

"I know that," replied Remus. "It's just that I thought he'd have had it out with me a while ago, and he didn't. I was starting to think it had blown over."

"With Albus, things like this do not 'blow over,'" said Snape. "I am sure the plan still stands as we made it in the beginning. However, I have a feeling your daughter, with her Seer ability, could be quite… useful to us all, and therefore I believe she will have to be told."

"I shall not involve her in any of this, Severus," said Remus firmly. "She's not joining."

"She needn't of course, if that's what you wish," placated Snape. "When you knew you were going to take her in, you knew it would involve the Order. Now while she needn't join, and I am most definitely not suggesting that she go on any mission, I do believe it is necessary for her to know what is going on. While most people believe that the less one knows the less one can betray, as a professional, I must insist that most secrets are revealed because those who hold them do not realize that they are not to be mentioned. It is your decision, of course, Lupin, but I need you to make it now. Do we tell her about the deception, or not?"

"I am in the room, you realize," said Philomena crossly. "I'd appreciate your either telling me, or keeping it from me properly."

"Well then, Philomena," said Remus, trying to calm his nerves. "Sit down. We are going to have to explain several things."

"We don't have much time, Lupin," said Snape. "I'll wait outside if you wish."

"Don't be a prat, Severus," snapped Remus. "You drove me into telling her this, you're going to stick it out."

Snape smiled serenely, and sat down. "As you wish," he said quietly.

Remus took a deep breath and began his story.


	30. Explanations

**Explanations**

"Are you familiar with the Werewolf Code of Conduct?" asked Remus.

Philomena nodded once.

"I assumed as much," said Remus. "Then you know that it is illegal for a Werewolf to have children. The penalty therefore is death, not only for the parents, but the child as well."

She nodded again. Snape was carefully not looking either of them in the eye.

"So you'll see it's vital that nobody knows who you are," said Remus. "Especially since officially, I'd have had to turn in Ralf as my Alpha, and my failure to do so is another felony. Severus and I came up with a plan so that… no one would be suspicious of you, or bring the matter up within the Ministry."

"You want me to hide again," she stated bluntly.

"Not so much hide as stand in plain sight and act as though you belong there," said Snape. "We came up with a plan, and frankly, I think it'd go smoother if you knew about it."

"And that is?" asked Philomena.

"Briefly put," said Remus, "I brazenly go in there, and tell them you're my daughter. Which makes them all think I'm lying, since as far as they know I haven't got one, _couldn't _have had one. Which makes them think I'm covering for somebody else."

"That's where I come in," added Snape, "letting slip that I know you fairly well, being relatively affectionate, yet claiming I've never seen you, and that I couldn't hate you more. Which leads them all to think that…"

"I'm _your _daughter," finished Philomena. "I see it, now. _That's_ why you thought it was funny to make me call you daddy… It's a brilliant plan."

Remus started. "You planned that?" he asked Snape. "I thought…"

Severus smirked. "Your daughter thinks like a Slytherin, Lupin," he said. "You don't have the subtlety, and I'm afraid you'll never gain it, though you do have the secretive and deceptive attributes."

"And what is my part in the deception?" asked Philomena.

"Simple," said Snape. "You pretend to be my daughter pretending to be Remus'."

Philomena blinked. "I pretend to be pretending to be me?"

Snape nodded. "Precisely. It shouldn't be that hard. Just be yourself, and occasionally pretend that you aren't."

"We don't have a lot of time," said Remus. "So I'll explain the Order. You remember all I've told you about the resurrection of the Dark Lord, and how the Ministry hasn't been moving against him? Well, the Order of the Phoenix was founded by Professor Dumbledore in the last war, to fight the Dark Lord. We have gathered again now, since nobody else is making a move."

"I see," said Philomena. "You're naturally, then, top secret, illegal, and highly dangerous?"

Snape nodded. "Slightly more socially acceptable than other top secret, highly illegal and dangerous organizations."

"You want me to join this, Mr. Snape," she continued. "In what capacity?"

"That of a Seer," replied Snape simply. "You're the only Seer on this earth now who can call a Vision at will, from anybody. You could be invaluable."

Philomena shook her head. "They aren't set truth," she insisted. "Just probability."

"Even that can be of extraordinary use," countered Snape. "While I do not like the future read for myself, personally, I know it can be of great strategic value, if only in morale. If people believe a certain thing will happen, they work harder towards it than if they don't."

"In short, a sort of public relations campaign, then," said Philomena. "You don't need a Seer to tell them what they want to hear."

"No," admitted Snape. "But I'd need a Seer to make them _believe _what they want to hear."

"But, Severus," protested Remus, "you can't prove her a Seer either way. People are always skeptical of-"

"A blood test, Lupin," chided Snape, "proves Seer blood, not necessarily ability. I'm sure that after a few Visions which prove reasonably accurate they'll learn to trust her."

"I'll do it," she said suddenly. "Why not? It would do me some good to leave here once in a while at any rate."

"Yes, I'm afraid I have been keeping you walled up in here like a jealous old man, haven't I," admitted Remus. "I'll have to do something about that."

"We haven't got much time," reminded Snape. "We should get started."

"I rather think it would make a better impression if we all showed up late together," said Philomena.

Remus frowned. "No it wouldn't," he contradicted. "It's not good form to show up late for your first meeting. Makes a bad impression. Besides, the time of the other members is valuable and making them say things twice is not a good use of it."

Snape smiled sinisterly. "On the contrary, Lupin. I think it's a simply marvelous idea. Particularly since I asked Dumbledore for a revealing letter for a 'new member' just this morning and didn't explain… They'll all be on tenterhooks waiting for me to unveil my new contact, and when I don't show up, they'll fear something's gone wrong. When _you _don't arrive, Dumbledore will remember the Ralf episode, and think something's gone wrong on _your _end, and suspect that your problem is related to mine, since I told him the Potions I was brewing lately were for you, though he didn't believe me. Then we all three arrive together…"

"And naturally, Dumbledore will think that I'm related to you," finished Philomena, "since if I were Remus' child, _he'd _have asked for the revelation letter."

"You planned this all, Severus?" Remus asked weakly.

Snape nodded. "I always plan everything, though I admit things do not always go according to those plans."

"You already asked him for a revealing letter?"

In response, Snape pulled a small scroll from his cloak, and handed it with a half bow to Philomena. Curiously, she unrolled it and read:

_The Order of the Phoenix is located at No. 12, Grimmauld Place,_

_Albus Dumbledore _

She read it, and looked askance at Snape and her father. "Fidelius charm, I suppose?"

Snape nodded. "It is. I toyed with the idea of relying on your Connection to her, to have her mysteriously appear without the letter, but that would be too strong a parallel to Ralf for Dumbledore to miss, and besides, he already suspects me of having a way to subvert Fidelius."

"_Dumbledore _thinks you have a way to subvert Fidelius?" asked Remus. "Why?"

"Because Peter Pettigrew gave away Lilly and James and he still hasn't accepted that sad fact," said Severus bitterly. "He thinks Voldemort subverted the Charm somehow, and suspects that I brought Ralf in, in a convoluted plot to kill you."

"That's ridiculous," snapped Remus. "Somebody's got him Confunded."

"Thank you very much for your vote of confidence, Lupin," said Snape dryly, "but I'm afraid the Headmaster doesn't agree with you, though I would be indebted if you took the blame for that last instance."

"I'll most certainly assure him you had nothing to do with it," promised Remus. "It's out of character for him to say such a thing. I don't understand it- he's always trusted you."

"He's always _said _he's trusted me," corrected Snape. "I don't really think he does. He hasn't for a while, and he's said as much. It stands to reason of course, you were always his golden boys, no fault of your own of course, and I was always in the wrong for whatever petty thing went wrong. He still thinks that if I hadn't fought back we could have become five merry little friends having picnics on a meadow somewhere."

"He's delusional then, or is up to something extraordinarily odd," said Remus firmly. "Much as it pains me to say it, James and Sirius were never ones to let up on anybody. If anything, they'd have hurt you harder if you hadn't fought back just to get a reaction out of you."

"Damnit Lupin," snapped Snape, "let's not rehash the past right now! I've got enough on my plate as it is. We've made a certain sort of peace for the duration of our agreement, but if you go about apologizing for old foolishness I don't think I can help but bring old grudges to the fore."

"I'm sorry, Severus," said Remus softly. "I'll most certainly speak to the headmaster about Ralf, though. I still can't give him an answer, of course, but I'll assure him it has nothing to do with you. If you'll allow me, I'll rehash the other with him, too."

"Perfectly all right with me," grated Severus. "Just don't expect me to join the conversation. I've already said all I'll say on the subject to him, and I don't want to be there when he realizes his theories are worthless."

"If you two don't mind," interrupted Philomena quietly, "we have a meeting to be fashionably late to."

"Quite right," agreed Remus. "We'll have to Floo; Philomena can't Apparate."

"Good," said Snape. "Joint Floo entrances are always nice and dramatic, and do away with the notion that you arrived separately and just happened to walk in the door together."

"I'll get my written report and the samples I'll need to return," said Remus. "I'll be right back."

Remus walked quickly out through the door on his way to the lab.

Philomena conjured herself a simple cloak, and threw it on over her robes. Snape wrinkled his brow critically. "More proof of your usefulness," he said. "Wandless control of that caliber would be wanted by anybody."

"I'll talk to you about that later," she said quickly. "Please don't mention it at the meeting… I'm not prepared to explain it to anybody else, but you may as well know that my abilities aren't consistent."

"To what extent?" he asked, his tone carefully neutral.

"I can't function in a panic," she said. "My Magic deserts me, then. Otherwise, do you think I wouldn't have used a calming spell during your panic attack last Moon?"

Snape looked quickly around to be sure no one had heard before relaxing again. "That could possibly be worked around," he mused, "depending on what causes the failure. We can talk about it later."

Remus returned with a small box and his book of notes. "We're already ten minutes late. Do the strategists think that's enough or do we wait longer?"

Snape rolled his eyes. "It's quite enough thanks to your dawdling on the stairs, Lupin," he sniped. "We'd best get on with this."

With a bit of awkward maneuvering, the three managed to fit themselves in the fireplace at once, and it was Snape who tossed the Floo Powder and shouted, "Number 12 Grimmauld Place!" 


	31. A Bit of Truth on the Side

**A Bit of Truth on the Side**

The Floo of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place flared to life. Snape tumbled onto the floor just as Remus staggered onto the hearth and Philomena stepped out of the fireplace with the deceptively easy grace won by hard practice. Ignoring the confused babble that arose, she took Remus' elbow to stop him from falling completely, and held out a hand to help Snape back to his feet. Snape shot the girl a glare hard enough to whither a chestnut tree at twenty paces, but took her hand nevertheless, hauling himself up.

There was a shocked silence as the Order took in the sight: Remus, fidgeting awkwardly to get the residual ash of his robes, Snape standing with a pose just daring anybody to mention his ungainly entrance, and Philomena standing with a serenity that belied her inner nervosity.

For a moment, nobody said a word.

It was Molly who eventually broke the silence. "For Merlin's sake, you two had better explain yourselves! We've all been worried sick about the pair of you! Severus, Dumbledore told us you'd requested permission to bring a new contact, and when you didn't arrive we'd figured you'd misjudged their character and were probably dead or dying…" She quieted, when her husband took her arm and gently shook his head.

"You'd better have a good reason for making us wait half an hour," griped Moody. "And who is _that._"

Severus gave a grimace. "I believe Lupin is better qualified to introduce my contact than I am."

Remus took a deep breath, carefully not looking anybody in the eye. "This is Philomena, my daughter."

"But- but- _how?_" spluttered Tonks.

"I hope I don't have to explain _how_ to you," snapped Severus, "and I should assume that there are some women of this world to whom even a slavering monster is better than nothing at all."

"Severus," scolded Dumbledore sharply.

While the Order was preoccupied watching for Remus' reaction, Snape took the opportunity to take Philomena's elbow and lead her to the nearest empty chair.

"I apologize for our tardiness," said Remus, trying to hide his agitation. "It's entirely my fault."

"Stop spluttering like a fool, Lupin," snapped Snape, quickly taking his usual place. "We've wasted enough time on your stupidity as it is."

A babble arose from the Order, as they all began to talk at once. Remus sighed deeply and waited for them all to quiet down. Finally they did, looking confusedly between the three.

"Severus, Remus, if one of you would kindly explain," said Dumbledore.

Remus turned to Snape and silently begged him to do the talking. Snape was about to explain when Philomena rose to her feet, drawing all attention to her. "If you would permit me?" she asked Dumbledore. He nodded.

"I know that you do not hold much by the Bloodlines of old, and fight against those who believe they should reign supreme," she said, her voice clear and steady. "This is just, and right; as Blood does not define the character of men, nor does it guaranty their worth.

"However, some of the old ideas of Blood have a basis on fact. Certain abilities are hereditary, and cannot be learned by those without the Gift. From my parentage I have inherited such a Gift, although I was told for many years it was a Curse.

"At the request and urging of- of _Mr. Snape_ and my father, I have decided to offer this Gift, and my services to this Order, in the hope that in doing so I may benefit the Light."

While she spoke, she had been carefully drawing a few Pulses from each member, drawing the shortest visions of the immediate future available. From these she gleaned information such as the names of most members, and those most likely to be skeptical.

Silence greeted her pronouncement, as she reseated herself. A corner of Snape's mouth twitched, and he nodded gravely to her in acknowledgement of her deliberate slip.

"I was aware that lycanthropy was hereditary," said Kingsley carefully, "and that those born to the Curse are rumored to be able to …Change at will, but…"

"She is _not _lycanthropic," snapped Snape, inwardly pleased for such an excellent opening, outwardly furious, "how _dare_ you insinuate anything of the kind?"

Kingsley, completely at a loss, looked over at Remus, who blurted out, "She didn't inherit _that, _thank Merlin."

"Mine is not the blood of the Wolf," said Philomena, "although that is a small part of my nature. Mine is the Blood of Cassandra, the Ancient, whose Curse has descended to her daughters through the ages."

Even Dumbledore looked a trifle surprised at that pronouncement. Moody snorted loudly, breaking the mood her words had created. "A Seer?" he mocked. "We're at war, and you bring us a Seer? What good is someone who's got their nose so far into some foggy smoke or other trying to see what's ahead that they can't see what's going on in the present?"

"I should thank you not to judge before you know me, Auror Moody," she returned, "and before you speak, Auror Tonks, might I make it quite clear to you that I am in perfect control of my Gift- I do not wait for Visions, I draw them to me at will. Though I cannot control what I See, I can control when, for whom and how long."

"Can you prove it?" snapped Moody, annoyed that she had caused him to start at the sound of his name.

She shook her head. "The Future is not fixed. What I See is not always what comes to pass. I See possibilities, not certainties."

Snape smirked. "I assure you that I have run extensive tests on her Blood. She does indeed have the Gift, the mantic nature of the blood quite prominent. It's been tested extensively."

"So was Trelawney's," pointed out Moody. "And we all know what she's worth. I'd like some indication of her power."

"You will allow me to make a prediction pertaining to the next five minutes?" asked Philomena.

Moody gave a harumph of assent.

Philomena smiled. "I shall write it down, and give it to you, then. Remember, it is not concrete, but merely a possibility. I shall try to select an incident of high probability, in the interest of preserving time."

Moody nodded, and Kingsley handed the girl his quill and a sheet of parchment. "Has anyone an objection to my Seeing for them?" she asked. "It is a quite personal matter."

Snape gave her a pointed look, which she acknowledged with the faintest of nods. Dumbledore's eyes twinkled with repressed excitement. "My dear girl, if you can See, I'd be simply delighted!"

"Then it shall be for you," she said. "If you will allow me a moment?"

Deciding it would look best if her Gift did not seem effortless, as Snape had told her to hide her measure of Power, she feigned a look of intense concentration, as she selected a Pulse sitting at the end of Dumbledore's nose, which appeared to be of the correct size and intensity. She pictured the feeling of intense hunger, and held out her right hand as the Pulse sailed into it. She closed her fist about it, and shut her eyes, trying hard to look hard pressed. After a moment, she dropped the act, and carefully shielding the parchment from others, she scrawled out her prediction, folded it over, and handed it to Moody.

Moody's magical eye read it without needing to unfold it:

_There is a high probability that Dumbledore shall end the meeting with the words, "This meeting is adjourned, in favor of Molly's delightful cooking," and have a fall leaving the table. _

With a harrumph, the Auror handed the note, still folded, to Emaline Vance. "Keep that until the end of the meeting," he growled. "We'll know by then."

Hestia Jones made an impatient sound in the back of her throat. "Could we please get back to the discussion we were having a moment ago? I believe Dumbledore or one of the others can arrange a mission for the lady as soon as they see fit, should it be necessary. In the meantime, we _were _rather busy."

"Yes, yes," agreed Dumbledore. "I suggest we give those who came late a quick rundown on what has already been said before going any farther."

"We were discussing Harry Potter and the security measures we have been taking on his behalf," said Arthur quickly. "I'm sure you know he's been practically confined to the castle since September, because of the risk of an attack. We were discussing the possibility of Re-Warding Hogwarts, or perhaps some object of the boy's, since constant guard is impossible."

"There are several small problems with that," said Remus. "To begin with, Re-Warding Hogwarts would take more than a week, in which time the present Wards would have to be removed. We cannot afford such a vulnerability, especially considering the inability to keep anything secret within Hogwarts."

"Also, Warding the castle against all those with Dark Essence isn't feasible for obvious reasons," added Snape.

"And we can't keep him locked in forever," added Dumbledore. "He hasn't complained, but then again, he has been keeping to himself rather much this year. I believe…"

"Headmaster, the boy has been on the most wanted list of the Dark Lord ever since he was born, and you never saw need to lock him in before," dead-panned Severus. "I hadn't realized that was policy, and would like to know why I was not informed."

"You must have realized, Severus," said McGonagall, "he hasn't gone on Hogwarts weekends, hasn't played on his team, isn't even allowed to go out on the Grounds now."

"When he stopped playing, I simply assumed he actually took an interest in his studies," returned Severus crossly. "And contrary to popular belief, I do not spend every second of my time monitoring the comings and goings of students. Do you mean to say you've kept him indoors all this time?"

"We've found it necessary after the unfortunate events of last year," sighed McGonagall. "No, he hasn't been out unless accompanied by a teacher. I do believe it was mentioned in a meeting back in September."

"I missed several then, due to being in Albania," pointed out Snape. "If you'd told me sooner, I could tell you how absolutely useless your precautions are. He's no safer inside the castle than out. If an attacker should make it to the grounds, which is no mean feat in the current state of things, he should have no trouble simply opening any of the school entrances. None of which are Warded against anything at all.

"To be sure the ancient Protection Spells of the Founders are in place, but they've not kept the Dark Lord out before, and I'll tell you why- they still recognize him as a _student. _In fact, _all _current Death Eaters are recognized as under Hogwarts' personal protection according to the old Magic in place. I've brought this up time and time again, but nobody's seen fit to tamper with the spells in place.

"There's no reason to give the boy claustrophobia on top of all his other deficiencies. The only reason there hasn't been a massive attack on Hogwarts before now is because it is _believed _to be difficult. I can see some sense in preventing the boy from going off to London on his own, or the like, but the rest is going much too far.

"Two chaperones are considered enough protection for the others traipsing about Hogsmeade; and should they not be enough for Mr. Potter, he could be provided with an emergency Portkey- a precaution we should have taken some time ago in any case. The Gargoyles do watch over the grounds and will alert the Staff in case of an emergency. They have never failed in the past, so there is no reason why Potter should not be allowed out. Frankly, I've noticed that the boy is increasingly restless, and it's affecting his work in all my classes. I had wondered what was wrong, but was assured by those I asked that nothing was amiss."

"If you please," said Philomena. "Might I make a suggestion?"

"Carry on," said Snape. "Whatever you say can't be stupider than locking up the Savior of the Wizarding World and nearly demolishing what little sanity he has left."

"A Tergum Visum would be advisable," Philomena said softly. "I do realize it is in Essence a Dark Spell, but as I understand it his scar is of Dark Essence as well, so it would not upset his Balance."

Snape slammed his fist on the table. "Absolutely not," he snapped. "Out of the question."

"I don't think it's even possible," put in Tonks. "It has to be put on newborns… nearly kills them, too."

"It's perfectly safe to transfer the Spell from a Carrier," explained Philomena. "It would be a bit of a risk, no more so though, than an immunization or any other protectional measure. The most that can happen to him is unconsciousness for a short period of time, or a fever. I've seen it done."

"We happen not to have a Carrier in our group," said Severus acidly. "And even if we had, the Tergum Visum is an unforgivable thing to inflict on anybody."

"I shall have our Warding Team look into the possibility," said Dumbledore, "speaking of which, Remus, if you please, your report on the that Broach Project."

Remus sighed, and brought out his box of clasps. "The Committee regrets to report that the project is a failure. The possibility of personalized Warding is still valid, but impossible using the material at hand.

"The Silver in which the Opals were set is a Negatively Charged Element and therefore reacts detrimentally with the Base. It leeches any spell bound in the Opal, drawing it out of the Base, and thereby dramatically reducing its potency. It remains effective only for a matter of days. All attempts at blocking this reaction have failed. We are looking into other avenues of supply in hopes of finding a base of the same quality, without the unnecessary silver. We return the undamaged samples."

Emmaline Vance took the box. "Pity," she said. "They were quite pretty. I'll return them to the shop then. Let me know if there's something else I can get for the committee."

Moody's magical eye swiveled from the box in her hand to the clasp at Severus' throat, but he said nothing.

"As for you, Severus?" asked Dumbledore.

"Yes, I do believe there was a small matter of a jar of Nundu's breath that needed to be disposed of," Severus said. "I do remember mentioning it to you."

"He hasn't got hold of _that_," cried Tonks. "We won't be able to fight it – he'll cause an epidemic!"

"He wasn't much interested in the epidemic, just the resulting panic," said Snape. "The effectiveness of which you've just so kindly proved to us. I retrieved it in time, though I'd sleep a fair bit easier if there were a safer place for it."

"Gringotts," said Bill, at once. "I've a high security vault that's keyed to my Magical Signature."

"That should be satisfactory," said Snape. "The Dark Lord believes it lost, and as long as we don't give him a reason to suspect it is in existence, then all is well."

"That will be all," said Dumbledore. "I believe we've covered everything we wished to cover. Unless there are any objections, this meeting is adjourned, in favor of Molly's delightful cooking. I believe she's quite outdone herself."

A scraping of chairs followed this pronouncement, as the members rose. With a cry, Tonks tripped and sprawled into Dumbledore, knocking him to the floor. Immediately Hestia and Emmaline rushed to help the man up, while Molly assured a panicked and apologetic Tonks that no harm had been done.

"Cerce's swan song," swore Moody. "It's happened."

Philomena smiled, and looked at her fingers. "I thought it likely."

"What happened?" asked Bill. "What did she predict?"

"Read it," commanded Dumbledore.

Emmaline brought out the parchment and unfolded it. "She predicted your words of a moment ago," she said. "And your fall."

"You see dear," assured Molly. "You couldn't have done anything, it was foretold; it's all right…"

Snape snorted. "I've seen more impressive party tricks."

The Order began to buzz as the parchment exchanged hands and was subjected to all manner of Revealing Spells as they searched for any evidence of cheating.

In the midst of the confusion, Dumbledore appeared by Remus' side, asking quietly, "A word with you in the other room, my boy?"

Remus nodded, and followed him, noticing from the corner of his eye that Philomena was talking animatedly with Sturgis Podmore. 


	32. The Headmaster

**The Headmaster**

Dumbledore took Remus by the shoulder and led him into what used to be Mrs. Black's study. The room had once been magnificent; a large bay window overlooking the garden, an ornate desk with an armchair, and more bookshelves than even Madam Pince could wish for. Now, the bookshelves were empty, the desk destroyed, and the windows overlooked a tangle of weeds. The décor had become a parody of itself, the carpet stained and frayed, the walls peeling paint in spite of the Maintenance Charms.

It was one of the few rooms Molly had yet to work upon; Sirius had expressly forbidden anybody to enter or use it, though he had never mentioned why. Molly respected his wish, and refused to remodel the room. The other Order members had never seen any reason for it to be forbidden, but still only used it on occasion, as it was by no means a pleasant place.

"Remus, my boy," said the Headmaster, leaning against the sill of the bay windows. "I haven't had time to bring this up before, but I need to know just what happened last meeting. Who was that man?"

Remus took a deep breath and said, "I never wanted to tell anybody this, but I know you won't let it rest until I do."

Albus simply smiled and gestured for him to go on.

"The man whom you saw was my Alpha, as I told you," said Remus. "I'm terribly sorry about the abuse of your trust, but at the time you asked I was unable to tell you, and later there was never a time to mention it."

Albus blinked. "Your Alpha," he repeated.

Remus shut his eyes and nodded.

"Go on, my boy."

Remus looked up surprised that no comment had been made about his lies of omission so long ago. Albus' twinkle had receded, replaced by a look, not of anger, but of concern.

"He merely wished to say goodbye. He's left Britain," Lupin said cringing inwardly at the inadequacy of the explanation.

Dumbledore expression became slightly bemused. "And I suppose fond farewells are quite commonly composed of shouting, fistfights, and kneeling about on the floor?"

Remus sighed. "Understandably, I never liked him very much. We've never been on good terms. Added to that he brought me very unexpected news which he didn't break to me well."

"He kissed your forehead," Dumbledore pointed out, "and you gave him access to Order headquarters. Not exactly the actions of those not on good terms."

Remus made an impatient gesture. "I didn't give him access to Headquarters. I couldn't have told him our location even if I'd wanted to- you are our Secret Keeper, not I. Our connection simply bypasses that. I had not heard from Ralf for eighteen odd years, so I wasn't expecting it to be a problem."

"You hadn't heard from him in eighteen years, yet he came to say goodbye?" asked Dumbledore. "After eighteen years, he calls you love?"

"That was not a term of affection," said Remus. "That was simply his way of sugarcoating his control over my Wolf. He did not come merely to say goodbye; he had certain … things to tell me. None of which have anything to do with the Cause. Please, Albus, you've never made me discuss the Wolf with you. This is a part of that, and not anything else."

"Quite personal, then," mused Dumbledore. "Still, I must ask."

"You did hear everything," said Remus stiffly. "There's no reason to go over this again."

"Yes, there is, as he did mention that your daughter was alive, and you are now caring for her," replied Dumbledore. "You should have told me of her existence."

"I made a mistake, I was young," countered Remus. "She was born in my last year of school. I was afraid; you know the law… and then I was told she was dead. I saw no reason for anybody to know."

"Her mother?" asked Dumbledore carefully.

"Not living," replied Remus shortly, thinking inwardly that was true in a sense; Moony would not exist for another month.

Dumbledore sighed. "I'm sorry."

"It's all right," said Remus. "I've long since come to terms with it."

Dumbledore absentmindedly played with his watch, staring at the whirling planets without really seeing them. "I don't understand why you've revealed her now. You took a great risk."

Remus ran a hand through his hair. "As I told you, I thought she was dead. I'd rather not explain that, if you don't mind. Ralf had been caring for her, but can no longer do so. While under my roof the girl has shown great promise, she has great gifts. I could not hide anyone in my house for very long without questions being asked. I thought it better to tell them at once, rather than have to explain to each in turn when they found out."

Dumbledore gave a noncommittal murmur, and repocketed his watch. "I see, I see," he said. "And Severus' Blood Magic project, of course, has nothing to do with you, and he didn't threaten you to get you to go along with whatever it is he's planning, am I right?"

Remus blinked. "Pardon?"

"Remus," said Dumbledore gently, "please remember that I do believe in second chances. Whatever you've done, I'm ready to help you. There's no need for you to hide Severus' manipulation."

Although pleased that the plan had worked, that suspicion had been diverted from the truth, Remus was appalled at how easily Dumbledore had fallen into the trap, and how readily he accused Severus. "Severus hasn't done anything," protested Remus. "Every last word was the truth!"

Dumbledore shook his head. "I trust Severus implicitly," he said. "I know he'd never do anything he thought would harm our Cause. But I know you, Remus. You would never do what you've claimed. Never have a child while you were still in school; never simply accept the rule of another; never lie to me."

"But I did!" protested Remus desperately. "I did, and Merlin knows I'm sorry for abusing your trust, but, Albus… I was alone, I didn't know what else to do, I…"

Dumbledore just looked at him. "I know you, Remus," he said again.

"It's true that Severus and I have come to … an agreement," said Remus. "He has done me a great favor, and I owe him one in return. Believe me, he's done nothing to force me into anything. How dare you say you trust him, and then turn around and say that you suspect he's been manipulating me?"

"I trust Severus," repeated Dumbledore, "though at times I cannot agree with his methods. I have no doubt that whatever it is he is trying to accomplish is something he thinks will bring us all good. I trust that he has the correct end in view; I cannot be sure his means are right."

"'The end justifies the means,'" said Remus. "I can't count the times you've told me so, nor how many times I've told you I don't agree. None of this has anything to do with the matter at hand, however."

"Hm, you still claim you have nothing to do with his mysterious Blood Magic project, nor the fact that one of the clasps is obviously not damaged, but is in fact being used at the moment?" asked Dumbledore keenly.

"There was no Blood Magic," insisted Remus. "He explained at the meeting; he tested her blood, make sure the gift was real, to be sure the lycanthrope was not malignant. As for the clasp, that is between Severus and myself. I told you, I owed him a favor. That is all you need know."

"Fidelius," said Dumbledore suddenly, "is a fickle thing."

"There's no way to subvert a Fidelius," sighed Remus. "No way to reveal the secret without being the Keeper, and no way to find the secret without it being revealed."

"Your Alpha seemed to manage," said Dumbledore grimly.

Remus waved an exasperated hand. "He didn't find Grimmauld Place, he found _me. _If asked, he would not be able to give directions to this place, nor could he find it again, unless I was here and he was looking for me. If asked, he would not be able to remember where he'd been. He found me through our connection, not by anything else."

"This connection," said Dumbledore carefully, "is it intact?"

"No," answered Remus. "He severed it , and even if he hadn't, he's left the country."

"The connection has been open before?" asked Dumbledore, his eyes glinting with interest.

"Yes," admitted Remus, hoping the Headmaster would not be able to figure out the connection between this bit of information and the rest. "He opened it briefly while I was in school."

"I see," said Dumbledore, sounding as though he didn't see at all, but merely didn't wish to pursue the subject further. "You do realize that you've placed yourself in an extremely delicate position by … claiming to have a daughter."

"I know the law," said Remus. "I also trust each person in that room not to enforce that law."

Dumbledore put his head to one side and stared into Remus' eyes. Remus stared back, ignoring Moony's insistence that he look away. Remus suspected Dumbledore was using his gift of Legilimency to find any sign of betrayal, but knew that his mind was exceptionally difficult to read due to the Wolf.

Finally, Dumbledore gave up. "I don't know what you are trying to do, Remus," he said at last, "but I hope for your sake it goes right. Take care of her, whomever she is."

Remus sighed. "Headmaster," he began awkwardly, "I… I want you to know that Severus hasn't done anything wrong. I know you suspect him of all manner of things, not the least of which is hiding the secret to breaking Fidelius, but please believe me when I say that…"

He trailed off, astonished to see that the other man was laughing at him.

"So he's told you, then," chuckled the Headmaster. "Yes, that was one of my more brilliant ideas."

"Brilliant ideas?" repeated Remus, aghast. "To suspect a man of nothing?"

"Nonsense," said Dumbledore, getting off the windowsill, "I trust Severus completely, as I've told you quite often. However, I know the man keeps a great deal to himself, and only allows himself to say what he feels in anger. He's been rather run down lately, and hiding a great deal from me. He needed to let loose at somebody, and it was better that it be me."

Remus realized his mouth was open and shut it with a snap. "You … you pretended to distrust him so that he would loose his temper?"

"Precisely," said Dumbledore, sounding slightly pleased with himself. "I'm quite sure he felt a great deal better after yelling at me for a half an hour."

"You realize that he believes it," said Remus. "He believes you don't trust him. He thinks you… don't appreciate his work. He's unhappy."

Dumbledore smiled, and shook his head at Remus. "Severus never completely trusted anyone in his life," he said simply, "and he'll never believe that anybody else could possibly trust him. He's also never really been happy, but my trust would not change that. It's simply his way. Besides, if I never pretended to doubt him, he'd believe my trust was a façade. Better to have him believe I have only a little faith, than for him to doubt I have any."

Remus shook his head. "Forgive me for saying this," he said, "but one day, all your plans will collapse and knock you on the head."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "They occasionally do," he said. "For instance, when I sent Hagrid to tell a certain two boys to befriend a third particularly shy boy, I never dreamt that I'd brought together the greatest menace the school had ever seen, instead of a quiet group of friends."

A shadow crossed Remus' face. "There were _four_ of us, Albus," he said. "Denying Peter's existence won't make his betrayal any less real. He's alive, and I can't help but think that maybe, someday, he'll have an explanation. A reason… that he'll come back to us."

Dumbledore sighed. "Pettigrew was an anomaly," he said. "I never guessed what courage lay under his skin. He seemed so weak. I assumed he was."

"What courage?" asked Remus bitterly. "He bent so quickly to the will of others."

Dumbledore sighed. "Courage is acting in spite of fear, not without it," he said. "Peter was deathly afraid of Voldemort, and still is. There is a certain bravery in a willingness to act against the wishes of all one's friends, a certain bravery, stoicism even, in the act of betraying them in spite of one's love for them. It is not a noble act, but a brave one nevertheless."

"He simply chose the lesser of two dangers," said Remus sadly. "I didn't let myself believe it for so long. "

"No, he chose the greater," stated Dumbledore with conviction. "There's a far greater danger in joining Voldemort's forces than in fighting him. Voldemort does not deal lightly with his followers, and does not accept anything less than perfection."

Remus wrapped his arms around himself and turned away. "What other explanation is there?" he asked. "I knew he defected for over a year before that awful day. Why, if not to escape death?"

Dumbledore's face took on a thoughtful expression. "I don't know," he answered simply, "and I don't believe there is ever an easy answer to such a question. I suppose he sought anonymity."

"Anonymity?" repeated Remus. "I don't understand."

Dumbledore spread his hands out in a gesture of helplessness. "How many of us were there, that openly stood against Voldemort? Very few, Remus, very few. Every one of them was immediately known for their defiance, and marked as a threat to Voldemort's power. Nobody knew who stood on Voldemort's side. His followers were secret, masked, and silent. No way to know who was one of the Dark Lord's men, aside from the mark, which is all too easy to hide."

Remus pursed his eyebrows and looked back at the Headmaster. "You think he found it safer to be a drone among dozens? I suppose that does make a sort of sense."

"Why do you think he did it?" asked Dumbledore.

Remus shrugged. "I've asked myself that so many times, and have never found an answer that satisfied. Mostly, I assumed that he simply valued his own life above that of his friends, or the safety of the world."

"Who can say why, or even when, a man turns to the Dark? " asked Dumbledore. "If I knew, if I could find out why…"

"You could ask Severus," suggested Remus. "After all, he knows better than the rest of us."

"That is one thing of which he has never spoken to me," said Dumbledore heavily. "Yes, vague hints that it was his only choice, but never a reason. Or even a time, though I know roughly when he joined."

"You do care for him greatly," said Remus. "Why don't you ever let him know that?"

Dumbledore sighed. "I cannot," he answered slowly. "It's too much of a risk. Voldemort, should he access his mind, and find… no. I _must _not become attached."

"That's the same trick you tried with Harry," Remus pointed out, "and it backfired spectacularly last year."

Dumbledore sighed again. "It is hard to make such decisions, harder to carry them out, and harder still when they fail."

Remus considered this. "What about all those years after the fall of You-Know-Who? There was no reason then you could not befriend the man. To be quite blunt, Albus, you've never dealt fairly with Severus."

"Yes, there was a reason," Dumbledore defended himself. "Because I could not allow myself to become attached, should Voldemort return, as I believed at any moment he might. He did, in time."

"You did become attached, nevertheless. You had to have become attached to even consider it a danger," protested Remus. "And why is it so much worse for Severus, or Harry to have a friend in you, than it is for me, or for any of the others? You cannot … you cannot make a decision as to whom to like, and whom to allow to like you. You've ample proof it doesn't work."

Dumbledore shut his eyes. "As I said, it is hard."

A silence fell, as Remus tried to quell the urge to shout at the man, and Dumbledore tried to keep from admitting that Remus was right. Finally, Dumbledore said, "Would you go find Severus for me? I need to speak to him."

Remus nodded, and left without a word.


	33. Suspicion

**Suspicion**

Most of the Order filed out of the room, intent on getting a plate full of Molly's cooking, as Dumbledore led Remus aside. Philomena remained in her seat, wanting to wait for either Snape or Remus to give her a lead.

Moody grabbed Tonks by the arm and dragged her to the entrance hall. Sturgis winced as Moody's voice shook the rafters, "Years of training you've had, girl, and yet you haven't gotten it into your head that knocking over the Supreme Mugwump is a Bad Idea Class B6! Constant Vigilance!"

Kingsley was about to go after them, perhaps to stand up for Tonks, but Sturgis grabbed his arm. "Don't," he said. "You'll make it worse."

"Leave her alone, Moody!" shrieked Molly's voice, causing several men in the room to wince. "It was a simple accident!"

"Accidents should be avoided!" roared Moody. "Aurors don't HAVE accidents! CONSTANT VILIGANCE!"

Kingsley cast a quick noise shield, and the screaming from the other room became quite muffled. The others sighed in relief.

"Thank Merlin that man never taught defense at Hogwarts," muttered Snape, "it would have been a disaster."

"His imposter did," rejoined Sturgis, "and none of you noticed it wasn't him, so he might as well have."

"He didn't do that badly," snapped Severus. "Bar the nonsense Crouch taught about Unforgivables, he was actually decent. Moody would have them listening so closely to their Dark Detectors they'd not hear the Castle explode about their ears."

"I'm sure he'd have taught them well," objected Kingsley. "I've seen him train new Auror recruits. He changes so much in the classroom- you'd never believe it. He's got a classroom persona of such gentle patience that when they move to field training, if it weren't for his eye and leg they'd probably not recognize him."

"And nobody can teach worse than Trelawney, anyway," laughed Sturgis. "Is she still teaching?"

"The position is held jointly," explained Snape. "Her and a Centaur, Firenze. And somebody CAN teach worse that that woman. Lockhart. If that popinjay ever gets out of St. Mungos, remind me to avoid Flourish and Blotts."

"What does Trelawney teach?" asked Philomena, trying to keep up with everything said.

Snape snorted. "Divination," he said.

Philomena laughed. "It is a Gift. It cannot be taught."

"Theory can," corrected Snape, "though Trelawney insists on having her students practice what they cannot possibly achieve. Firenze has much more sense. He knows they can't understand a word."

"There's something I don't understand about your demonstration tonight," mused Kingsley. "You said the future was not fixed, correct?"

Philomena nodded. "There are an infinite number of possibilities, yes. Man has Free Will." Kingsley frowned. "And yet you managed to predict what happened quite accurately. If there are so many possibilities, how did you choose one? How did you know?"

"I did not See one Possibility, but many, as you said," agreed Philomena. "However, while they were not all the same, many shared common events, or characteristics. Nearly all showed Auror Tonks to be clumsy, nearly all showed Dumbledore leaving the table first. I combined that with the knowledge I had, and the current circumstances, and deduced the most probable outcome."

"But his _exact _words," Kingsley pressed on. "You'd written down his _exact _words."

She smiled. "I Saw the possibility of several ways of wording what he was about to say," she answered. "I chose one at random. I was lucky."

Sturgis shook his head. "Impossible."

"For you, perhaps," she said. "I had no reason to choose the one I did, but for me it is an instinct to see what is more likely. I cannot explain. It is in my Blood."

Mundungus Fletcher wobbled unsteadily into the room. Sturgis sighed, and Snape wrinkled his nose in disgust as the man fell into the nearest chair. "Molly's made a pie to die for," he drawled.

"Then do so," returned Snape, "it would be a favor to all of us."

"S'not nice, 'fessor Snape," protested Mundungus. "I didn't do anythin' this time… S'good pie. I'll all be gone if ya don't hurry."

Kingsley sighed. "Dung," he said, "why did you miss the meeting this time?"

"Not sayin' nothin'," protested Fletcher. "Top Secret."

"You mean illegal," snorted Sturgis. "Or personal."

"You're disgusting," snarled Snape. "A disgrace to the Order. You realize that your obligation to this organization is worth more than making a few extra Knut smuggling."

"Heeeey," said Mundungus, noticing Philomena for the first time. "What's yer name, pretty?"

Snape let out a low growl in his throat and shot Mundungus a dangerous glare. Kingsley noticed and rose from his seat, ready to intervene if something happened, not sure at whom Snape's anger was intended.

"Philomena," she answered stiffly, glad that the table was between them.

"I see it, now," said Sturgis. "The bearer of light. Very fitting for a Seer."

"The _daughter_ of light," corrected Kingsley. "It's Greek, not Latin."

Snape coughed. "It means _beloved_."

Philomena nodded. "Beloved, yes."

"Whatever it means, nickname to that is Fanny, isn't it?" asked Mundungus snidely, waggling his eyebrows.

"Keep that tongue of yours to yourself, Fletcher," shouted Snape, flying across the room and grabbing Mundungus by the collar, "or lose it altogether."

With a snarl that would have made Sirius' Animagus form envious, Snape slammed Fletcher into the wall. "Apologize," he snapped. "This instant."

Shocked, Kingsley vaulted over the table and pulled Snape away from Mundungus. "Good Goblins, Severus!" he shouted, pushing the man into the nearest chair. "What's got into you?"

Mundungus massaged his throat and giving a nervous grin, started to edge from the room. Sturgis quickly rose and pretended he hadn't been sitting next to Philomena, while the girl herself wondered blankly whether Snape's outburst had been affected as part of the plan, or had been genuine.

Making up her mind in a split second, she dashed over to Professor Snape, just as he was restrained by Kingsley to prevent him from breaking away to go after Mundungus.

"I'm warning you, Fletcher," he snarled, struggling against the iron grip of the other man, "if you even _think _a thing like that again, the Ministry will be the very least of your worries!"

"Stop it," she whispered to Snape fiercely, deliberately loud enough for Kingsley and Sturgis to be able to hear her, yet soft enough for them to believe she did not want to be heard, "you're drawing attention!"

Snape redoubled his efforts to escape Kingsley's grasp, only to find himself shoved deeper into the chair, his wrists pinned by his head to prevent him from drawing his wand. Mundungus abandoned all pretense of sneaking and ran as fast as he could from the room.

Sturgis, who'd been watching in shock finally rose and shut the door after Mundungus, prepared to give Kingsley a hand if necessary. "Are you out of your mind, Snape?" he asked.

"Let me go, Kingsley," snarled Snape. "I'm not going to kill anybody."

Kingsley snorted. "You've a strange way of showing that."

"I shan't stand for him making comments like that to my- my protégée," snarled Snape. "If he so much as lays a finger on her-"

"Stop," begged Philomena, "he didn't do anything."

"He didn't do anything _yet,_" countered Severus, "and he shan't if I have any say."

Kingsley released Snape, but did not let his guard down, prepared should Snape exhibit further rash behavior. "I'm sure Dung didn't mean anything by it," he insisted. "You're overreacting."

"Besides, if anybody has a right to get angry over it, it's the girl herself," Sturgis pointed out. "Or perhaps Lupin."

Snape started, and then quickly composed his face to his usual mask, inwardly quite gleeful over his performance. Not only had he been waiting for a good excuse to fly off the handle at Fletcher for quite some time, but Dung's comment to the girl had truly annoyed him. Seeing Sturgis loose his cool was an added bonus.

Severus rose to his feet, gave Kingsley a glare of intense malevolence, stepped out of his reach. "I'm sorry," he said, putting a fatherly hand on Philomena's shoulder. "I do believe I've done it again. What did you call it?"

Philomena smiled and shook her head at him fondly, having caught his lead. "Your 'Jealous Daddy' routine," she laughed.

With a sigh, he lead her from the room with an arm about her shoulder, giving a pointed glare at Sturgis on his way out.

For a moment, Sturgis and Kingsley stared gobsmacked after them.

"Well," said Sturgis finally, "that was … interesting."

"Never thought I'd see the day," said Kinsley, disbelief strong in his voice. "He's _jealous!_"

"That's revolting," shuddered Sturgis. "He's- he's old enough to be her _father_."

Kingsley let out a slightly nervous laugh. "Didn't stop you, did it?"

Moody clunked back into the room, his eye twirling about the room before deciding it was safe enough not to hex the occupants.

"Stupid girl," he muttered. "Years of training and hasn't enough sense not to knock the Mugwump onto his behind."

The Auror suddenly stopped, and whirled round, taking in the scene. "What happened?" he growled. "Who had a fight, and why is there a Noise Shield up?"

"Ah…" said Kingsley, removing it quickly, "Molly was quite, shall we say, vociferous earlier and…"

"Yes, yes," agreed Moody. "She's quite the Banshee. Should have guessed. But what happened? You two look like somebody died."

"Somebody will when Lupin finds out Snape's after his daughter," said Sturgis. "I can't believe it. She let him _touch _her!"

"She can't be Lupin's daughter," snarled Moody, clunking to the table, and sitting down heavily.

Kingsley shrugged. "I wouldn't say that. He was a handsome lad when he was young," he mused. "Had quite a following, though he was quite the shy one and didn't respond to any of the attention, letting Sirius and James draw it in. I'm sure a girl with enough gumption could have been quite persuasive… and left him when she found out his condition, I suppose."

"Nonsense," snorted Alastor, uncorking his hip flask and taking a long swig, "it's illegal for a Werewolf to have a child. The Ministry has a Monitoring System in place- and believe me, they wouldn't have accepted any excuse. He'd be dead now."

Sturgis shuddered. "That's dreadful."

"Necessary," insisted Moody. "Otherwise, what man would actually _tell _a girl of his Condition? Taking the innocent out of danger."

"There's no proof it's hereditary," objected Kingsley. "And if a man is conscientious and takes precautions, I see no reason to prevent him from-"

Alastor slammed his flask onto the table, his magical eye swiveling to monitor it carefully, as he turned away to see Kingsley and Sturgis with the other. "The Law does need revision," he admitted, "considering the recent discovery of Wolfsbane… perhaps with proof that they were taking it, perhaps under a Mediwizard's eye… yes, it could be. But then, it was necessary. Harsh, yes, but necessary."

"Are you sure the Ministry's System is accurate?" asked Podmore. "I know it's others aren't very reliable. For instance Underage Magic Detectors, and of course the Dark Magic Detectors, which I think were disabled some fifty years ago…"

"It's possible, I suppose," allowed Moody. "But I know Lupin, and even better, I know that a man in love is reckless with his own life, but protective in the extreme of the life and happiness of his girl. Lupin knew the Laws, he would have to have, given the program they have in place for Werewolves, and he would know the penalty is death for the Werewolf parent _and_ the child. He'd never have taken the risk."

"That must have been why he was always so withdrawn," mused Kingsley. "I always wondered. He had several chances, most obvious with Evans. Though I suppose, if he had spoken up to her, most of recent history would be glaringly different."

"Infinite possibilities," sighed Sturgis, "like she said."

"I don't hold much by Divination," growled Moody. "Dumb luck, it was."

"But if she isn't Lupin's daughter," protested Kingsley, "then _who _is she? Why is she here? Why did Remus lie?"

"You know how Remus is," said Sturgis, "he's probably taken her in. They seemed close enough- probably adoptive. I'm sure the Ministry never thought of _that_. Crazy policies…"

"As a matter of fact," grumbled Moody. "You're right. There's no clause about adoption by Dark Creatures... Incompetent fools, the lot of them. But you still haven't told me what happened. Who fought, and more importantly, who won? You said something about Snape and the girl?"

Sturgis made a helpless motion with his hands. "All Dung did was make one crack about her name. About how the nickname is 'Fanny.'"

Moody snorted. Kingsley took up the story, "Snape nearly strangled the man. Screamed at him to take it back, to apologize. That if he touched a hair on her head he'd kill him."

"Then," continued Sturgis, "Kingsley pulls him off Dung, and Dung legs it. After a bit of growling Severus finally calms down. The girl just _smiles _at him, and teases him about his 'jealous' routine."

Kingsley gasped in sudden revelation. "No, no- she called it his 'jealous _daddy _routine."

Sturgis eyes widened. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

Alastor gave a harrumph. "We'll have to watch the three of them," he grumbled. "Find out why Snape's hiding his daughter."

Kingsley frowned. "I wonder… she seems about twenty. That places her birth about Snape's last years in school. Who…?"

"With _Snape?_" protested Sturgis. "I don't even want to _think _about it."

"More importantly," added Moody, "why is Lupin abetting the deception? There's something afoot- it's at times like these we must exercise CONSTANT VILIGANCE!"

"I would think one should exercise _constant _vigilance _all _the time," joked Kingsley.

"It's no joke, Kings," protested Podmore. "This is serious. Why's Snape hiding the girl? Is she in danger, or is he protecting himself? What did he do to make Lupin go along? You know how uptight he is about rule breaking, he'd never hid anything from the Order- oh Merlin, you don't think Snape's withholding Lupin's Wolfsbane…"

"It's a possibility," said Moody grimly. "We'll have to watch carefully. We'll get to the bottom of this. Not a word to a soul- the less people know, the less they can give away. Don't let on you suspect anything. As soon as we know something concrete, we either act ourselves, or get Dumbledore into the mess."

Kingsley nodded. "Right."

Sturgis hesitated. "I'm sure Snape knows what he's doing," he protested. "I'm sure he's just trying to make sure his daughter is safe. He was quite overprotective, all night, remember? Wouldn't listen to a word anyone said against her, and then the thing with Dung… Think about it. None of us knew he even _had _a daughter. He's been hiding it very well all these years, because he knew he'd be in the line of fire. I think he's let something slip, or someone found out, and he's decided to hide her in plain sight."

Kingsley nodded slowly. "I'm sure he means for the best," he answered. "He always does. I just want to be sure Remus is in it willingly. The rest is not my business."

Alastor nodded. "Right then," he said. "We wait, and we watch. CONSTANT VILIGANC"


	34. Conversations in the Kitchen

**Conversations in the Kitchen **

As soon as the door was shut behind him, Snape caught Philomena's eye and allowed a truly evil grin to overtake his face. Less then a second past before it disappeared completely. She grinned back at him.

"I do believe we did it," she whispered. "Got them, and good."

Severus rubbed his palms together, his face falling into his traditional knowing smirk. "Just you wait until you hear what they start whispering."

"Did you see Podmore's _face?"_ she giggled in undertone. "He thought he was going to die!"

"I was rather busy watching Fletcher's face," answered Snape, taking her elbow and leading her down the hall. "Stupid man…"

"Thank you for that, by the way," she said, still unable to stop grinning. "He did scare me."

He made a careless motion with his free hand. "Think nothing of it," he said. "Payment, perhaps, for all the chocolate and tea."

She shook her head. "Remus is quite put out about the chocolate, you know," she confided. "He just doesn't want to say anything about it."

Snape's lips twitched in amusement. "Suffering in silence is one of his strong points," he quipped. "Yours as well, must run in the family."

She gave him an offended glare. He gave a jerk of his head to show he hadn't actually meant it. With a sigh, she relaxed. "Why were you so adamant about not trying the Tergum Visum?" she asked.

Instantly, Snape stiffened, all traces of levity gone. "Not now," he said tersely. "I'll tell you later."

Unnerved by his reaction, afraid he was angry with her, she lost her grin. "I'm sorry."

He gave an irritated grimace, but said nothing as he continued to lead her through the twisted hallways of Grimmauld Place until they finally reached the kitchen. A buzz of conversation reached their ears.

"Here you are, Ms. Lupin," he snapped, throwing the door open with a bang. "I hope you'll be able to remember your way, since I shall not take the time to lead you about again."

Unsure whether this was part of his act, or whether he was truly upset with her, she simply nodded, and edged into the room.

The conversation died, as they all stared at her. As usual, Molly Weasley was the one to smooth over a tense situation. "Come and sit down, dear," she said warmly, hopping over to lead the girl the nearest seat, between Bill Weasley and Nymphadora Tonks. "You must be tired, have something hot."

Philomena gave Molly a smile, as she sat herself. "Have a cuppa," said Tonks, helpfully pouring Philomena a cup of tea, and rather unhelpfully filling her saucer as well.

Philomena was about to take a sip, but Snape snatched the cup from her. "What," said Severus, in a dangerous voice, "did I tell you about caffeine, young lady?"

The room fell into in a tense silence. "You said not for a day," she answered, bewildered.

"I said _at least_ a day" snapped Severus, crossing the room and slammed the cup with a splash on the side table. "Just be glad you didn't asphyxiate."

With a scowl, Severus turned on his heel and stalked to his chair, which was slightly set off from the rest, and helped himself, careless of what he was eating. Molly sighed, and automatically cast a cleaning charm, which took care of the spill.

"Don't mind Professor Snape, deary," said Tonks dismissively, "He's an old grouch, and far too paranoid about allergic reactions."

Philomena looked towards Snape in surprise. "Professor?" she asked. "I didn't know he taught."

Snape slammed down the serving spoon he'd just used. "I'm a Potions Master," he snapped. "I live in a school, associate with academic riffraff like your father. What did you _think _I did?"

"Oh, I don't know," she returned, now thoroughly confused as to how much of his snapping was caused by actual anger and how much was affected, "for some odd reason I thought you were a spy or a Dark Arts expert or something. Never dreamt you'd willingly mentor children in your spare time."

Hestia Jones choked on her potatoes. Arthur Weasley tried valiantly not to snort, as he patted the woman on the back.

"Silly girl," gritted Snape. "I believe you're watching the future too closely to see what's going on right about you."

"Don't be harsh on the girl," chided Hestia Jones. "You've only just met her."

"Just met her?" mocked Snape. "I'll have you know I'm the one responsible for the talent she's flaunting."

"With all due respect, _Professor_," said Tonks, "the Seer Gift is inherited, not learned."

"It's just that- a _gift,_" stressed Snape. "And like any talent it's innate. It must be brought to the fore, recognized, honed, trained. _I _did that."

Philomena, hoping to make up for whatever she'd done to anger him flashed him a grateful smile. "He's absolutely right. I would be completely helpless were it not for his help. Without his potions, I would be no better a Seer than any of you. I will never be able to thank him enough."

"Stop that emotional gushing," said Snape sourly, mutilating his turnips, "you're breaking my heart."

Philomena concentrated on eating, hoping the others would simply resume their previous conversation. After a short uncomfortable silence, it happened.

"What were you saying, Bill," said Hestia, "about that tomb you were working on?"

"Oh yes, that," said Bill. "Like I said, there wasn't anybody actually buried in it, due to a very grave mistake, if you'll pardon the pun."

Arthur let out a snort of laughter, which he covered with a cough when he caught his wife's frown. Snape shook his head in disgust, and crossed to the cabinet on the far side of the room.

"Did they forget the coffin?" asked Emmeline in a bored tone, "or did they somehow manage to destroy the body in the process of trying to preserve it?"

"Worse," said Bill. "They decided to test the Wards before the funeral, but they couldn't take them back down in time for the funeral, as they'd not developed the Wards with a Cancellation clause. Our historian speculated that they didn't inform their customer, ran off with the offerings, and disposed of the body covertly, and that they might even have done it on purpose, knowing nobody could enter the tomb to check whether all was in order."

Arthur, being seated at the head of the table, was the only one who could see Snape get out a large tumbler, and fill it with milk. Hiding his surprise was difficult, as he watched the Potion's Master add cocoa and stir with the same precision as he would a Calming Draught.

"How did you break the wards, then?" asked Philomena.

Bill fingered his earring carelessly. "The Wards were extremely complicated, specific types of attack triggered different curses. Like a booby trap, really. There were provisions in the Spells which prevented everything from a crowbar, to Avada Kedavra, unleashing the most terrible Curses… Mind Leaching, Irreversible Transfiguration…"

"Seems a lot of work for nothing," sniffed Emmeline Vance. "There was nothing in it, why bother breaking in? What good did it do?"

"There were two reasons to destroy it," replied Bill, "The first was that the Bank is looking into replicating some of the Curses to protect the Bank, in particular one intended to freeze time for the robber until apprehended. The other reason is Anti Muggle Security. There have been several attempts by them over the years to open the tomb, because of the records of the lavish burial treasure. But they've all disappeared, or been killed, you see, and it was only a matter of time before the Muggles realized something out of the ordinary, for them anyway, was going on."

"You still haven't told how you broke the Curse," Hestia pointed out blandly, tucking a stray strand of dark hair back behind her ear.

Bill grinned. "Dynamite."

"Dynamite?" repeated Arthur eagerly, excited enough to tear his eyes away from the odd sight of Severus casting a very precise warming Charm on his glass of cocoa. "That Muggle equivalent of an Irradicus? You didn't tell me! You took pictures, I hope."

"That's impossible," protested Emmeline, ignoring Arthur, "If the wards were so strong, a Muggle device couldn't possibly have-"

"That's where you're wrong," interrupted Bill. "You see, the Curses are all set to specific triggers. They didn't have anything set for a dynamite attack since they didn't know it existed. Sometimes, a Muggle device is the only way to subvert Magic, except those relying on electricity, which tend to go haywire around large amounts of Magic."

"I don't see why there wouldn't be a trigger for an explosion," mused Arthur. "I was sure Muggles knew about explosives for quite some time, and I know those chaps were paranoid about grave robbing, they'd be just as worried about a Muggle attack as a Wizarding one."

"But they didn't have them until at least the ninth century, common time," said Tonks. "And I'm sure the tomb Bill's talking about is at least a thousand years before that."

Bill nodded. "That's right," he answered. "And even when they did have it, it was a while before they used it for more than fireworks."

Snape slunk behind Philomena's chair and abruptly slammed the perfect glass of hot chocolate next to her plate. She started so violently that she nearly fell into Bill's lap.

Philomena took a deep shuddering breath as she righted herself. Her eyes darted from Snape's face to the glass and back again, as she realized that this was his way of not only apologizing for his earlier snapping, but also of furthering the plan of deception. She smiled quickly to show she understood.

"Drink up," he said, returning to his place, "before it becomes insipid at room temperature."

Snape returned to attacking his meal as though nothing had happened. "What were the Muggles told?" he asked.

"What Muggles?" asked Tonks distractedly, staring at Philomena's glass as though it was about to bite somebody.

"Tomb. Egypt. Explosion," clarified Snape sourly. "Surely they asked questions?"

Bill swallowed. "Not my department. I just studied the Wards until we could determine how to dismantle them."

Philomena sipped her drink and smiled at Severus, who scowled back, though he understood that she'd accepted his apology.

"So, you simply detonated it?" asked Philomena. "Surely that didn't cancel all the Wards? There must have been some attached to the stone itself, and the triggers have yet to be tripped."

"Well," explained Bill, "an explosion, if strong enough, can physically separate Magic from the object charmed. The object reverts to its original state, and the Magic diffuses into the atmosphere, as harmless Neutral Essence."

"I see," said Philomena. "In that case, wouldn't an Irradicus have the same effect?"

"Because the Irradicus is Magic," explained Bill, "and as such recognizes other Magics as part of their Objects. Even if it hadn't been warded against, it would have caused more harm than good, simply physically destroying the place, leaving shattered pieces of rock still imbued with horrific Trigger Wards. They could scatter over a tremendous area, be impossible to find, worse yet, impossible to neutralize, due to a scrambled and altered Essence."

Hestia put her chin in one hand, and carelessly twirled her fork in the other. "So, why can't you use the same explosive on Gringotts? Or Diagon Alley?"

Snape let out a growl low in his throat. "Just what we need, Jones," he said. "To destroy the entire Wizarding World, with a Muggle device. I assure you, there's little chance of _that _happening, unless _we _do it. Any Dark Wizard with his self respect wouldn't even know such a think existed."

"Dark Wizards _have _no self respect," snapped Emmeline Vance. "And even if they did, we would be foolish to dismiss any risk unnecessarily."

"Emmeline," said Arthur, in an attempt to keep the peace, "we know that Wizard's from all walks of life can turn to You-Know-Who. He's been known to temporarily overlook less than perfect Blood in a follower if they are a good enough asset, and their status is not generally known. It is quite possible that he would recruit a Muggle Born, who could suggest the idea, which could-"

"Not happen," interrupted Bill. "Wizard, particularly the Elitists, have a very warped idea of what Muggle explosives are capable of. Besides, Gringotts, as I'm sure you know, handles Insurance for most of the Wizarding World. It would be devastating to them should a large disaster destroy Diagon Alley, or Hogsmeade. They spend an exorbitant amount researching possible disasters, then creating and testing Wards against them. All publicly owned Wizard land in countries that Gringotts has bases in is Warded. I led the team that did it myself. It was one of my first missions."

"I thought you were a Curse _Breaker,_" said Emmeline.

Bill shrugged. "It's not _all_ I do for the Bank. My team periodically checks the Wards, making sure there hasn't been the slightest irregularity, or weakening. We also apply new Wards as they are added to Policy."

Just then Remus opened the door causing the room to fall silent once again. "Severus," he said, "Albus wants to talk to you. He's in the study."

Severus dropped his fork and arose. "He'll have to get _out_ of the study, then," he snapped, swiftly leaving the room. "That room is cursed."

The kitchen door slammed behind Severus with a bang. Remus looked around the room, and realized that Hestia and Bill were staring at him with curiosity, while Emmeline looked down her nose at him.

Tonks jerked her chin towards Philomena and asked loudly, "Well?"

"Well _what?" _Remus asked, daring them to ask him for the information they wanted directly. "Albus wanted more information on the Wards that failed."

Philomena raised an eyebrow, guessing that by 'wards that failed,' he referred to Ralf's entry in spite of the Fidelius.

"Have some pie, Remus," said Arthur quickly, hoping to avoid any embarrassment, "it's quite good."

"How could it be otherwise?" asked Remus lightly, taking the chair between Hestia and Severus that was normally empty. "Your wife made it, and Mundungus recommended it."

"That man needs a shave," said Molly sourly, quickly making a subtle cutting off motion in Hestia's direction, as she looked about to ask Remus a question.

"Not as badly as your son needs a haircut," returned Emmeline, annoyed that Molly had tried to silence them like one of her children.

"It's _my _hair," snapped Bill, who had missed the silent exchange between the women, "and before you say it, it's also _my _ear!"

Remus smiled, glad the subject had been changed.

"So, Remus," asked Hestia, who hadn't understood Molly's signal, "where have you been hiding her all these years?"

Caught off guard, Remus' smile froze. Philomena, who'd been expecting questions, answered quickly, "Naturally, I didn't live with him before, but now, with the Wolfsbane, it's possible."

Remus looked down to hide his face. He knew the others had never really been comfortable knowing his 'condition,' and he didn't like it when it was brought up. They usually ended up uncomfortably fidgeting, unable to find anything positive to say.

Setting her jaw, Molly rose, reheated Philomena's much abused cup of tea, and handed it to him.

"I'm sorry, Remus," said Molly briskly, "I should have realized. Have some tea, it'll make you feel better."

Remus, used to her method of consolation, accepted it quietly. "Thank you, Molly."

"Well?" demanded Molly. "What are you all looking so horrified for?"

Wordlessly, Philomena went to her father and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Come, love," she said softly. "Let's go home."

He shook his head, not looking up. "I'll need to talk to Severus when Dumbledore's through with him."

Philomena shot Emmeline a glare over his head. "Come, love," she said again. "Your head must still hurt. You need to lie down."

Remus, gladly grabbing onto her excuse, raised a hand to his head and prodded it gently. "Yes, it does still throb a bit," he said rising, "and I could rest a bit in the other room until Severus is finished."

Philomena put her arm about him and led him from the room. "Tell Severus I'm in Regulus' room," said Remus, as they left. "It's about the Fidelius."

With another pointed glare over her shoulder to discourage anyone from following, Philomena shut the kitchen door firmly behind them.

Molly held up her hand for silence, as she opened the door a crack to make sure they were out of hearing, before rounding on them.

"Just what were you _thinking?"_ she snarled. "How _dare _you even bring it up?"

"I didn't think-" began Hestia.

"Precisely," snapped Molly. "You didn't _think_ that Remus never does anything without a_ very _good reason. You didn't _think _that he's been obviously not himself all night, that's he's _obviously _very uncomfortable with the situation. You didn't _think _to notice that he _deliberately _said _very little _about the girl or her origins.

"You didn't _think _that perhaps the answers to what you were asking could be _very painful _memories for him. You didn't _think _that considering his condition and the laws he's put his _life _in your hands! You obviously weren't _thinking _about anything but your petty desire to know _everything _about _everybody _and stick your nose into other people's business!"

The bell of the lamp above Molly's head rang slightly as she finished. Arthur, sure the storm had passed, took her arm. "Now, Molly, dear," he said, "stop yelling at the poor girl. She didn't mean it."

Molly huffed and tossed her chin. "No respect for human dignity, you lot have," she snapped. "Nor any sense of _tact_."

"Not that he's really human," said Emmeline, sniffing. "And that was a very poor excuse for him to run off and not explain."

This was the wrong thing to say as it set Molly off again. She stalked over to the woman, put her hands on her hips, and glared down at her.

"I have had enough of your prejudiced idiocy," she shouted. "'A Muggle device couldn't _possibly,_' you say. 'He's not really _human_' you say. Don't you realize that this is what we're fighting against? The type of closed minded, bull headed _stubbornness _that enabled You-Know-Who to rise to power? How _dare _you? He doesn't NEED to explain himself to you!

"I know you're set in your ways, Emmeline, and I know you've long traditions, your civility to uphold, but you know, Emmeline, I don't give a _damn!" _

Hestia paled, and Tonks hair fell back to its original limp mousy brown. Neither could remember ever having heard Molly swear in the least before, and to hear her say 'damn,' could only mean that she was extremely peeved. Bill fingered his earring and exchanged a sympathetic long-suffering glance with his father.

Emmeline slammed a hand on the table. "You don't give a damn for tradition Molly Weasley?" she shouted. "That's no news! You married this good-for-nothing! You had seven good-for-nothing children! You're a disgrace to the Prewett name, you are! I knew your mother, and she's probably rolling in her grave!"

"My mother is _not_ dead!" roared Molly.

"Then this will kill her," snarled Emmeline. "To know there's a _Werewolf_ in the Order, not to mention a _Death Eater. _And now, we're letting some little ninny, barely twenty, just waltz in with no guarantee whatsoever of her identity, and just a mere party trick to 'prove' her abilities! A pretty pass, Molly Weasley, a pretty pass! We're digging our own graves, we are! We can't fight against the enemy, if the enemy is in our own RANKS!"

"Remus has proven his loyalty time after time," shouted Molly, "As has Severus. I trust their judgment- and if the judgment of a Prewett, the judgment of a _Weasley _isn't good enough for you, prissy, then the judgment of the Supreme Mugwump ought to do in a pinch! Do you think Albus doesn't know what's going on?"

"You can't hide behind Albus, Molly!" snapped Emmeline. "This Order is only as strong as its _weakest _members! We cannot afford to let men as strong as he is to be bogged down by… by _Dark Creatures_!"

Molly took a deep breath, and when she spoke again, it was in a whisper, but a powerful whisper, quivering with fury, each word pronounced slowly, with the utmost venom. "Emmeline Vance. You should know better than to think we simply are fighting You-Know-Who, or even his Death Eaters. We are fighting his _ideas. _Ideas _you _obviously _share, _about the supposed _purity _of blood guarantying character. If all those of 'impure,' descent are inferior, with mediocre talent, then how do you account for _yourself_?"

Emmeline rose to her feet as though she'd been slapped. "How dare you," she snarled, her hands curling into fists. "How _dare _you!"

"Ha!" crowed Molly triumphantly. "There you have it! You don't care that I insulted your loyalty, or your courage. You cared that I insulted your BLOOD. Remus Lupin was the only one we _denied _a place in our Order during the first war despite _repeated _requests from others that he be included, and despite a guaranty of his character from not only James Potter himself, but Minerva McGonagall as well! Both he and Severus remain the only ones we've ever seen fit to question under _Veritaserum _of their loyalties before allowing them to participate. They've proved enough! I don't think YOU have!"

"How DARE you!" shrieked Emmeline. "How dare you?"

"I dare, because I have an open mind!" seethed Molly. "I can think for myself! I do not blindly place my trust in things like blood! I allow myself to think, to judge, to decide for myself whom to trust. The weakest faith is the faith that never doubts. Only a strong mind can overcome doubt after doubt and still believe.

"I've doubted every person in this room – yes, even my husband. I have even, on occasion, doubted Albus. And now, Emmeline Vance, I doubt _you. _And I hope to Merlin I can find a good reason to have faith in you again."

"Hestia," said Emmeline, desperately, "you know I'm right, don't you? You know she's wrong...?"

Molly turned to Hestia as well, smiling a very predatory smile. Hestia licked her lips nervously.

"I don't know," she hedged. "I… I've only just joined the Order a year ago, and I am no judge of any of that."

"You see, Molly Weasley?" sneered Emmeline. "The type of Witch we admit, not even thirty, hasn't even got the sense to judge other members after a whole year of working with them."

"Which is better?" returned Molly dangerously, "to refuse to judge, knowing it isn't one's strong suit, or to judge based on outmoded classifications?"

Insulted, Emmeline tried to think of something to say, but failed. Finally, she settled for tossing her head, and stalking from the room.

Bill released a sigh of profound relief, which unfortunately proved to be premature.

"I can't believe the woman," ranted Molly. "Her and her 'purer than thou,' attitude."

"Eh, Molly, _dear,_" said Arthur. "I think… I think you need a nice relaxing cup of tea, or…"

"Cup of TEA?" shouted Molly, rounding on her husband. "You think I want a CUP OF TEA at a time like this?"

"Well," said Arthur, "if you'd rather I bean Emmeline with a crusty roll…"

"Molly," said Tonks, in a small voice, "I didn't know Remus was… with anybody."

"That's none of your business!" snapped Molly. "And shame on you for asking him! If you'll just think about it for a bit, would _you _stay with a man, even if you loved him very much, if you knew that every month he'd become a complete monster and a danger to your children?"

"Yes," answered Tonks fiercely. "If I loved him."

"I wouldn't," answered Molly. "Merlin help me, but I wouldn't. I wouldn't care how much he promised to be careful, I wouldn't care how strong the chains on the basement door were. Can you honestly say you'd stay with a man was not always in control of a mad desire to _tear you to pieces?"_

Tonks winced and looked at her feet. "I don't know," she answered miserably. "I don't know."

"Poor man," sighed Hestia. "She must have left him when she found out there'd be a baby. Makes sense, you know. In love, you don't care about yourself, you're reckless as anything, but you'll fight tooth and nail for your child."

"I forbid you to ask him about it!" Molly was nearly hysterical. "All of you! Don't you dare _mention _it to him! As if he needs more on his mind now."

"I'm sorry Mrs. Weasley," said Hestia. "I didn't mean it."

"Poor Remus," said Molly sadly. "He's had such a hard time of it, poor boy, and … and… there isn't anything I can do for him. Merlin help me, but… Arthur… I can't help but- but check the lunar charts every time we have a meeting… _I'm afraid of him._"

Molly began to cry, and Arthur quickly gathered her into his arms. "He's so young," she sobbed into his shoulder, "and the gentlest thing this side of Mars, and it isn't his fault, but I'm afraid of him…"

Arthur caught Bill's eye and jerked his chin towards the door. Nodding, Bill rose and pulled Hestia and Tonks from the room, shooting a last concerned look over his shoulder, which Arthur was too busy comforting Molly to see.


	35. Tergum Visum

**Tergum Visum**

Severus billowed from the door and left the Kitchen. For a moment, he almost felt sorry for Lupin. The women were bound to question him to distraction, particularly Tonks and Emmeline. 

When he reached the door to the study, he knocked on it briskly. "Severus?" called Dumbledore from the other side. "Come in, my boy."

"I'd rather not," replied Snape serenely.

After a moment, Dumbledore emerged. "Really, Severus," he chided, "you don't seem the superstitious type."

"The room is cursed," said Severus shortly.

"Nonsense," said Dumbledore lightly. "I've been through it, there's absolutely no Negative Energy."

"Negative or Positive Energy are not analogous with Light and Dark Magic, Albus," snapped Severus. "Might I remind you that you were the one that insisted there was no Chamber of Secrets?"

Dumbledore looked abashed, but only slightly. "I hope you realize that you're actually agreeing with Sirius about something."

"As much as I loathed the man," said Snape tersely, "I can say I knew him well. He was not a liar. He has always told what he believed to be the absolute truth even when it was not to his advantage. 'I killed the Potters,' indeed."

Dumbledore began to hum tunelessly to himself as he shuffled down the hall. Severus followed him a few paces behind, to compensate for the older Wizard's slower gait. Finally, they reached one of the old disused bedrooms. Dumbledore opened it, and sank into an overstuffed wingback armchair, gesturing to Severus to take another.

Grimacing, Severus surveyed the room, seating himself gingerly on the edge of the chair. "Have Moody check that clock, it bothers me."

Dumbledore nodded as though that was the most obvious thing in the world and said, "I've just had a nice little chat with Remus."

Severus gestured for him to go on, feigning just the right amount of impatience.

"He told me a great deal about his connection with the Ralf fellow," said Dumbledore, "and I should like to apologize."

"As usual," grumbled Severus, looking at his hands. "You believe him over me."

Dumbledore shook his head. "No," he said. "I didn't believe you alone, nor would I have believed Remus had he claimed what you have. But both of you, claiming the same, that I can believe."

"For somebody who claims to have absolute faith, you are rather fickle," said Severus. "Was that all?"

"Severus, my boy," said Dumbledore, "I didn't distrust you. I believe, and always have, that you act for the best, and you have never failed me. I simply had a suspicion that, with the best of intentions, you were keeping things from me."

"There is one thing I would like to inform you of," said Snape, "and now's as good a time as any. They boy is watched well enough, but his _things _must be watched. It's not urgent as yet, probably won't be for a few weeks at best, but plans could change abruptly."

"Why?" asked Dumbledore urgently. "What's been planned?"

"Blood Magic," said Snape quietly. "I've no hand in it officially, but I'm doing my best to sabotage the project from within. I can't tell you how, and if you trust me as you say you do, you shan't ask. The plan has been to infuse some object of the child's with very powerful Negative Energy."

"They've no blood of his, though," protested Dumbledore. "As long as he's safe, there should be no need to-"

"They're not using his, they're using the Dark Lord's," explained Snape. "You'll remember that it was Potter's blood he used to resurrect himself. It is now Potter's blood, on a subliminal level at least, which runs through his veins."

"Whose blood is the trigger?" asked Dumbledore, his face set and grim.

Severus briefly allowed his despair to show. It took a moment for Dumbledore to realize what his spy was trying to tell him.

"I'm sorry," said Dumbledore finally.

Severus looked up in surprise. "Sorry?"

"How far along is the project?" asked Dumbledore, abruptly switching to a more businesslike manner. "Should I inform the others?"

"Not yet," said Snape. "Not while there's a chance I can save things from within. It's better Potter doesn't know of every plan for his life, and you know somebody would end up telling him about it 'for his own good,' if they knew. I assure you I'll notify you should things come to the point where I need the assistance of the rest of the Order. They're needed more where they are now."

Dumbledore hesitated momentarily, but decided that Severus needed a proof of his trust. "Tell me the moment you need our help," he said at last. "Be careful."

"During the Occlumency sessions," Snape said suddenly, "I've seen increasing images of his nightmares. Not visions, his own personal nightmares. Do you know what he fears most of all?"

Apprehensive, Dumbledore slowly shook his head.

"You know, about his relatives?" asked Snape, before continuing without waiting for an answer. "Until he was eleven they kept him in a cupboard. His dreams are full of rooms which begin to close in until there's barely room for him to move a finger. The boy is claustrophobic."

Dumbledore sighed, his face a mixture of guilt and sorrow. Snape was expressionless.

"I had to leave him there," sighed Dumbledore. "Otherwise, he would have been…"

"You merely made a single possibility less probable," contradicted Severus. "That isn't the point now, however, Headmaster. He must be given room to move. Hogwarts is not a claustrophobe's nightmare; the rooms are all large; the hallways aren't narrow; there are plenty of windows. The Great Hall's ceiling is especially liberating, with its silly enchantment. But keep a man in a place and prevent him from leaving, no matter what its size… a prison is a prison, Albus."

"We can't let him out of sight," protested Albus. "Especially after what you've just told me."

"You are used to doing what is right for the boy, or what you believe is right, in spite of what you feel, or what he thinks," said Severus. "But his mind is very … impressionable. He has practically no self-confidence, a very insecure child. I would rather he be overconfident, without escort, than escorted, and fearing for his life."

Dumbledore didn't respond, but seemed to be deep in thought. Severus quickly pressed his advantage, saying, "He's skittish now, more than he was before. He's afraid, not only for himself, but for the others, and you've made it worse by not letting him move. He's afraid he'll be trapped in the castle while his friends are, perhaps, attacked in Hogsmeade. I am asking you, Headmaster, just give him an emergency Portkey, and call off his guards.

"Worse yet, he now firmly believes that he is the only one who can keep his friends safe, and that whatever happens to them is his responsibility. You've reinforced that by praising his deeds without punishing his extreme recklessness. You've merely increased his sense that his own safety is somehow worth less than that of others."

Dumbledore considered. Severus, who never admitted to needing help, had personally asked him, not suggested, or told, but _asked _him to do something for the good of a boy he had no affection for. Severus had also raised his voice to him, while he was normally impeccably polite to the Headmaster, regardless of disagreements. There had to be even more reason than he was letting on to make him as agitated as that and Dumbledore was afraid for what it could mean for Harry Potter.

"What about the Tergum Visum?" asked Dumbledore finally. "It would give him protection, without needing to be watched, or to stay in one place."

"Albus," Snape said icily, "the Tergum Visum is possibly the worst thing to inflict anybody with. Would you take away his _humanity_? Are you willing to do that, to keep your weapon safe?"

"He's not a weapon, Severus," said Dumbledore heavily. Severus had called him _Albus. _Not Headmaster, not Dumbledore, but _Albus_; he only used his given name when he was deathly serious. "His humanity?"

"You know how the Tergum Visum works," spat Severus. "It replaces the instincts of the Subject with an animalistic sixth sense. It cannot be undone, and it is _not _safe. Even if we had a subject from which to transfer it, it could quite possibly incapacitate him for months or even kill him."

"Not fully human," mused the Headmaster. "Wandless magic…"

"Merlin, Albus!" swore Severus. "Are you really that heartless? No one can claim that I'm a very merciful person, but even I would not take away the very humanity of a boy not yet eighteen, to give me a tactical advantage in a war – besides, if he did not receive the gift of Wandless Magic along with nonhuman gift of Parseltongue, he shall never develop it."

"It might seam heartless," said Dumbledore, "as do other things I have done. But I am much older than you are, Severus. I have seen much more, and I realize that sometimes a small harm is necessary for the greater good. I have spent most of my time agonizing over the relative values and risks of certain things, which, Merlin preserve me, were somehow made my decision. I am merely trying to keep the boy alive, and to help him fulfill his destiny. To be sure, there have been times when my decisions have hurt him, but I considered those hurts worth their benefits."

"It's a good thing it's impossible to cast upon him now, isn't it?" said Severus in a dangerous whisper. "A good thing we've no one to transfer it from, and a very good thing you didn't think of it when he was born."

"Yes, I know," said Severus. "Sending him to live with his relations was necessary. Leaving him there, when you know he's ignored, even starved there, is necessary. Locking him up until he goes insane, is necessary.

"It was necessary," continued Severus bitterly rising from his chair to pace about the room. "Necessary as it was not to stop him from his various 'rescue missions,' and praising him when they've fallen in his favor. I don't deny he deserved a fair praise for some of it, but he should also have received a warning not to try something of that nature on his own again. The lesson he's learned was that it's was best to work in secret, hiding from his mentors, that it is was up to him alone to save those in trouble. He _should _have learned to go to a competent adult with such grave concerns."

Severus fell into lecture mode, as was his wont when he was excited about a topic. He began to pace about the room, his stride lengthening as the pace of his words increased steadily.

"Do you know what will happen, Albus? Perhaps has happened already? That he thinks his danger, his pain, is worth nothing. That he _must _put himself in the line of fire to save others. Don't be surprised if he sacrifices his life for this cause of yours, helped on ever so much by your 'difficult decisions.'"

Severus broke off, breathing hard. Blood pounded in his ears as he tried to calm himself down. He turned away from Dumbledore and sank into the chair, putting his head in his hands. Neither spoke for a moment, until Severus finally raised his head, sighing heavily, "I'm sorry, headmaster. I should not have said that."

"I'm glad you did," Dumbledore answered.

"You never thought of the fact that he's not an idea, but a living breathing person who can think for himself, did you?" asked Severus tiredly, no strength left to snap.

Dumbledore sighed. "It is hard," he said. "I knew when it first happened, what sort of home he'd grow up in if he were brought up in our world. I knew it would be better for him to grow up not knowing. Though I did hope for him to be brought up well, loved, that they would tell him when he was old enough to know."

"You knew what sort of people they were," Snape chided quietly. "You simply decided the risk was nullified by the potential gain."

Dumbledore sighed. "His Occlumency," he said suddenly smiling again. "Is going well?"

"It is progressing, slowly." Severus nodded, conveniently not mentioning that the boy was still not finished with his study of Legilimency and therefore hadn't been training much at all, not to mention busy learning Avada Kedavra.

"Well then," said Dumbledore, bouncing to his feet, once more his characteristic collected self, "you will tell me more of his doubts and insecurities as you learn of them. The more we know about the boy's psyche, the better we can-"

"You want me to spy on him," Severus interrupted, "since you still cannot face speaking to him on your own. I understand."

Dumbledore sighed. "What is it about the Tergum Visum that bothers you so much? I haven't seen you this agitated since…"

Severus stood, and turned away from Albus, crossing his arms. "Neville Longbottom," he said shortly. "You can see the good it's done him."

Whatever Dumbledore had been expecting, that hadn't been it. "Frank and Alice's boy?" he breathed. "I knew they'd been thinking of casting it at the time, but I was never sure if they'd actually done it before the attack. Then we _do _have someone from which to transfer! I'm surprised I didn't realize it before- he was exceptional in the skirmish at the Ministry- quite the opposite of his usual self. I knew it didn't seem right. Yes, yes, I see it now! The Spell would have informed him quite well where the danger was…"

"You cannot transfer a Spell that has miscarried." Severus' face was unreadable as he explained. "The Tergum Visum is intended, as you know, to provide an advance warning of attack, and potential danger. Why do you _think _the boy is as terrified of me as he is? The Spell was miscast- he can only see the _potential _of offensive Magic. You'll notice he's equally terrified of you- and of Potter himself to a lesser degree. The Spell's denied him any sense of perspective of _likelihood _of an attack.

Severus began to pace about the room in agitation as he went on. "Imagine it, Albus. Everywhere that boy walks, his mind automatically categorizes every person he sees by their ability in Offensive Magics, his mind telling him take cover, to hide until all danger is passed."

Dumbledore's eyes narrowed as Severus continued to rant, accenting his words with agitated gestures, sweeping about the room.

"Imagine," Snape continued, his voice steadily rising in volume, "sleeping in a dormitory with four or five other boys your mind kindly informs you are quite capable of seriously harming you; being in a class knowing your professor is more than able to _kill_ you. Imagine having a divided mind, the rational half of which tells you that certain people are to be liked and trusted, while your every instinct is to attack or run from them on account of their power.

"And that," finished Snape, now deathly quiet, "is only _one _of the ill effects you would risk were you to attempt a Tergum Visum on Potter. I say again, thank Merlin we've no one to transfer it from."

"I suppose it's all for the best," said Dumbledore. "May the rain fall where it must."

"I hate that expression," griped Severus sourly, seating himself again.

Dumbledore smiled inscrutably. "Of course."

Severus took a deep breath, before finally deciding to tell the Headmaster something that had been on his mind for some time. "Sir," he began tentatively, "do you know much about Scrying?"

Albus' blue eyes widened slightly, wondering how he'd been caught, before he rearranged his face in an expression of friendly interest. "Scrying, Severus?" he asked.

Severus nodded. "Twice in the last week I've had the uncomfortable feeling that I'm being watched. I would know if it were someone in the room, no matter how well they hid. I am sure they watched from quite some distance, though the distance varied. I've searched, but I haven't been able to find a defense against them, and… one of the instances was in Hogwarts itself, and if they can See me, they can See you, not to mention Potter…"

"You've not been able to find a defense against them," said Dumbledore, "because there isn't one. They're quite inconvenient, you know; throw a nasty twist into Metaphysical Theory by defying all the rules. We really must chat about it over tea some day, I believe I've a book on the matter in my office somewhere, you know, right next to the one about Circle Magic."

Severus blinked. "The matter is quite serious, Headmaster or I would not have brought it up."

Dumbledore nodded. "Yes, yes," he said. "However, there's nothing we can do about it, except behave with extra caution when you know yourself to be under surveillance."

Severus gave an exasperated sigh, and leaned back into his chair.

Dumbledore leaned forward in his chair, a look of keen interest on his face. "Tell me, Severus," he asked, "how did you know you were being watched?"

Severus tensed. "It doesn't matter, I was probably imagining it anyway," he lied. "I'm sorry for bothering you with it."

"No matter," said Dumbledore, "no matter at all. Any trouble of yours is a trouble of mine."

Severus tried to refrain from snorting and succeeded, barely. "Which just means what I've told you bothers you for some reason, but you're not going to tell me."

"Now, now, Severus," said Dumbledore, "you've not given me a straight story in a Griffin's age, always the absolute truth, but always stretched. Allow me a little fun of my own? Tell me, how far was the distance you … sensed? From the watcher to you, I mean."

Severus grimaced. "The first time it was quite close, which worried me," he answered. "The second time it seemed quite far off, almost unnoticeable."

Dumbledore nodded absently popping some sort of sweet into his mouth. "Anything you wish to tell me?"

Snape sighed. "If there were, I'd have told you."

"Quite, quite," murmured the Headmaster. "Take care of yourself, Severus, and mind you get some sleep. I don't want you fainting in class, or worse yet on a mission."

"When I'm in danger of a vasovagal episode, Headmaster, I shall see Poppy," snapped Snape, rising to his feet. "If you don't mind, I have a Werewolf to badger about nearly missing his Wolfsbane in the presence of children."

With a curt nod and a dramatic sweep of his robes, Severus left the room. The Headmaster watched him leave, then allowed a wide grin to break over his face.

"Severus, Severus," he muttered to himself, "I see. It's all very simple. Wolfsbane. The girl… The pin. It's all connected, but how?"

The headmaster leaned back in his chair and propped his feet on the coffee table, revealing bright lime green knee high socks. Lazily, he watched the pendulum of the clock Severus had objected to swing from left to right and back again.

"Question is," the Headmaster mused, "what's the pin? And what's been given for what? They've both said they owed the other a favor, who went first? Curious, curious."

The clock ticked loudly, incessantly. Albus tsked along with it, deep in thought.

"Ah ha," he said finally, nodding to himself. "I see it, I see it. They've set it all up to fool me and they might have succeeded were it not for... It's all too fantastic; they're overplaying their hands.

"Simple answers to complicated problems. They arranged the scene with Ralf- I know I gave Severus an entrance slip to Headquarters in case of emergency a while back that he never used… he must think I've forgotten about it. That's how they let that Ralf fellow in- all staged. Kneeling about on the floor, how ridiculous.

"Then they spring the girl on me- knowing I'd make a connection between the two, yes, that's it. Question is, why does Remus go along with it all? The pin… yes, yes, the pin and the Wolfsbane."

Dumbledore began to hum softly to himself as he turned over the events of the last week in his mind. "Yes, yes," he thought, "Severus demanded the pin for the Wolfsbane, then the act for keeping mum about the pin… Powerful magic in it- but not a Ward- or, at least, not _only _a Ward…

"Question is," he thought on, "why is Severus so intent on hiding her? Probably his niece- I _know _he has nephews, not too much of a stretch… Perhaps, yes, yes, he's paranoid when it comes to the safety of his relations. He wants her safe from any connection to him, so he's hiding her in plain sight. Very clever, very clever…"

A knock on the door brought the old man out of his reverie. "Yes?"

"Sir," said Kingsley crisply, striding into the room, "I need your help."

Albus jumped to his feet. "What is it?"

"Vance is in a tiff, Molly's in hysterics, Bill's trying to keep Tonks and Hestia from stampeding to apologize to Remus, and Severus just stomped by looking like a storm cloud with an extra dose of lightning."

"Yes, yes," said Albus, "I'll help Bill, you tackle Emmeline."

"I'll do it," grumbled Kingsley, "I'll do it, but I won't like it."

"Good for you," said the Headmaster cheerily, on his way out the door, "develops your character."

"Oh, and Headmaster," said Kingsley, as they parted ways in the hallway, "nice socks." 


	36. Malfoy Matters

**Malfoy Matters**

Lucius Malfoy was miffed, not to a small extent, but a rather large one. He was used to being in charge, manipulating other people, imposing his will. Severus hadn't risen to the bait as planned and therefore posed a bit of a problem.

The trouble with scheming to become Absolute Dictator of the world is that very few people are willing to help you. Those who are, are either planning to stab you in the back or quite insane.

Lucius' plan from the beginning was to have a few trusted allies to do the dirty work for him. This he had accomplished by first ensuring that they could not possibly betray him, and sealing their motivation and loyalty with promises of great power.

Of course, he also planned to dispose of both of them as soon as they were no longer needed, which was rapidly becoming more complicated than Lucius would have liked. Antonin was willing to go along with the plan to ensure his own safety, but Severus was not so easily manipulated, and the more Lucius thought about it, the more he was convinced that confiding in Severus had been a very bad idea.

In retrospect, it was clear that the proper thing would have been to convince Voldemort that Rabastan and Antonin were in need of help. Having him draft Severus into the job, at the same time convincing the man that using his own blood would have ill effects, which would have caused Snape to sabotage the entire project on his own, without need of recompense.

Lucius had not, unfortunately, thought of this in time and had gone ahead and tried to draw Severus into his web of deceit. Though he hated to admit it, he had failed miserably, gaining Severus' mistrust. The more he thought about it, the more Lucius was convinced that Severus had only gone along with the original plan to lull him into a false sense of security in order to find away to betray him to their Lord.

"I'm going to have to kill him sooner than planned," he said to himself.

"What, my Dumpling?" asked Narcissa.

Lucius cursed his own preoccupied mind for its stupidity: one did not blurt out murder plans while having tea with one's wife. Especially if one's wife was known for her strong will and devious mind.

"Nothing, my Sweeting," he answered, "just thinking."

"Of killing?" she answered with a false sweetness. "Good gracious, not over tea. Is it anybody I know? Will it be a duel, or are you going to poison him?"

"Poison's no good, he'd detect it, damn him," snapped Lucius.

"And I suppose," said Narcissa, with a very poisonous smile, "that you're not mentioning the dueling option because he is better than you. Or is it a woman?"

"I can't duel him- he's too close to our Lord, and I wouldn't want to-"

"Be punished for depriving our Lord of one of his prized followers?" interrupted Narcissa.

"-to have to explain his death or find a replacement for him," finished Lucius sourly.

"Of course," his wife humored him. "We wouldn't want that, now, would we? You've missed dinner often enough the past week as it is. It would hardly do for you to be saddled with your rival's duties once you've assassinated him."

Lucius gave an annoyed huff and reached for a lemon biscuit. "It's not like that, and you know it, my Dearest. He's… plotting the demise of our Lord, but he's got me in such a position that I can't reveal his treachery without-"

"Exposing your own?" Narcissa interjected in a rather bored tone.

"-him exposing a letter from me which was rather unfortunately worded,. One which implicates me in things I haven't had any part of," Lucius finished with a lie.

"You mean things by which you haven't profited," corrected Narcissa, replenishing his cup.

Lucius gave the slightest shrug, indicating that he either agreed with her, or didn't think her statement worth the bother of refuting.

"So I can't attack him myself," he said sourly, "and I couldn't possibly hire someone to do it without it becoming known, mouths will blab as you know, and as I said, he's too much of a Potions expert to …"

Narcissa's cold eyes gave a twinkle as she sipped her lukewarm tea. "Unless, of course, you set a Master, to poison a Master."

Lucius smiled lightly, inwardly now quite suspicious. Usually his wife would be demanding more information, names, dates, and places. Normally she would try to reorder all his plans - or thwart them. Now, it was almost as if she had her own agenda. Lucius knew very well that she had no reason to protect him whatsoever, particularly as she only had a year before Draco would be of age to inherit…

Still, he supposed that dangerous help was better than none at all, so he said carefully, "A Master to poison a Master, my Dear? Whom would you suggest? The true Masters are all so appallingly principled and reticent about giving away anything deadly. The ones that will actually sell you a poison are generally not capable of brewing one subtle enough."

"I know one who isn't particularly… adverse to such things. As a proof of his talent, I've seen Severus buy from him with my own eyes," she said quietly, quite pleased that he hadn't resisted her advice. "He's got a shop down Knockturn, not far from Borgin's."

"His name?" asked Lucius.

"Hasn't got one," she replied. "He is called either 'Sir' or 'Master of the Greatest of Arts,' or, at the very least, 'the owner.' His place is underneath Blood and Bones."

"I always wondered what was down there," mused Lucius idly. "I'll look into it. I hope to goodness the man isn't paranoid to have taken antidotes to everything in existence."

Narcissa raised a perfect eyebrow. "There are some poisons with no antidote," she said quietly, "and a fair few that are kept in greater secrecy and security than the Dark Lord's soul."

"It would have to be tasteless," continued Lucius. "I'd hate to face him if it went wrong."

"With your wit and enterprise, I'm sure you'd find a way," she said rising gracefully to her feet. "If you don't mind, I'll take my leave. I have several letters to write."

She crossed to his side of the small table and gave him a peck on the forehead on her way out. As soon as she was gone Lucius grimaced in distaste. "What in the name of Grendel is she up to?" he muttered. "'Master of the Greatest of Arts' indeed."

Narcissa smiled to herself as she stepped lightly into her study. "All I've to do now," she mused, "is let Severus know that Lucius is planning to poison him- it's obviously Severus, or he wouldn't be so worried about him discovering poison. Severus always was the best dueler in England… and Lucius will fall."

With a contented smile, she got out her stationery, and her favorite quill. "Punishment for his betrayal of our Lord, killed by the one he's trying to manipulate. Quite just."

With an elaborate flourish, she signed her name to the simple warning note and blotted it dry carefully. "Of course, once Lucius is dead, Severus will let his guard down and the poisoning may commence. It's all quite perfect."

Grinning maliciously, she sealed the scroll, and sent it off by her personal owl, activating the security charms as it flew out into the cold with a foof of its feathers.


	37. Early Morning Incidents

**Early Morning Incidents **

Severus Snape got out of bed the morning after the Order meeting. His clock obligingly had a hand set on "far too early."

"Griffin spit," he muttered to himself, shuffling into his slippers, "the days I actually have time to sleep…"

With a heartfelt groan, he decided that as he was up already, he might as well make a round of the castle, even though it was probably Flitwick's shift- the man only ever did his own floor since he had trouble with stairs.

He dressed quickly, throwing on his robes and lacing his boots with practiced fingers. Pausing by his desk, he saw that an owl had come for him earlier and was flopping on his floor.

He knelt by it, gently undoing the leather straps holding the message, which was splattered with raindrops. Unrolling it, he read:

_Severus _

_I should like to thank you again for last night. I'm afraid I was rather flustered and too nervous to think rationally. Now that I go over the events again, I can see how well your plan worked, that no matter what you eventually require of me in recompense, I am sure it shan't be enough. _

_I'm sorry for the abrupt conversation we had before you left- I'm afraid I was quite tired of carefully picking my words after such a lengthy conversation with Albus. I did tell you he no longer suspects you, did I not? _

_Apparently, he can suspect either of us of just about anything but both of us agreeing on something is too strong a proof to ignore... Sometimes I wish I still had as much faith in that man as I did when I was a student. It is so dreadfully easy to see only the flaws in those who lead us . _

_I was intending not to tell you this, but after sleeping on it - though not sleeping long, another effect of the moon – Albus admitted to purposely goading you, to let you 'release your anger' or some such. He thinks you keep too much bottled up inside. _

_He did not expressly tell me not to inform you, but I understood as much. However, I cannot stand the sight of blatant manipulation. Especially considering the results it had last year, namely the alienation of young Potter which lead to Harry's distrust of all around him. Not that I believe you would react as he did. Albus has apparently been doing this to you for many years, but I simply could not justify keeping this to myself, knowing how valuable a thing trust is for you. _

_I'm not sure how long we'll be forced to continue the charade. I confess I hold on to the hope that it shan't be long before conditions improve and people are less prone to distrust. You may be amused to note that Bill Weasley took me aside shortly after you left to warn me that you had a prurient interest in my daughter. No matter, the more insane stories flying about, the more likely it is that they believe the outrageous lie we've conceived. _

_To conclude with what I started out to write, I'm issuing a standard invitation for you to barge into my house and yell at me for not being subtle enough tonight, as well as handle the Warding problem we were discussing during the meeting. There's also a small matter of the Wolf, which, though negligible in comparison with other things, could become an urgent problem if allowed to progress.  
Yours, _

_Remus Lupin. _

Severus' eyes scanned the message rapidly. With a grimace, he rummaged about for a quill and parchment and dashed off a reply:

_Lupin, _

_If you expect I care whether I'm invited or not before barging into your home to 'yell' as you put it, you haven't been paying attention during the last few weeks. _

_No thanks are necessary. We do have an agreement. What I do, I do not do for you. _

_Bill Weasley is an idiot, no need to mention that. _

_As for Albus, I thank you for your pains, but it was quite unnecessary to agonize over such a trivial matter. _

_You did mention earlier that the Wolf was making itself known to you in your Human form – I have taken the Caldaic Oath after all, and must needs be sure what I pour down your throat actually works, and even without that, I have some sense of morality, which makes it hard to leave a man in danger of becoming a slavering beast more often than usual. _

_ Regards,   
Snape. _

He rolled the letter together and tied it to the leg of the owl with some nearby twine. "Off with you," he muttered, shoving it in the direction of his ward. "You know whom it's for."

Checking to make sure his wand was safely in his breast pocket, he left his rooms and began his patrol. The corridors were quiet, as they ought to have been at this time of early morning, the only sound being the swish of Severus' cloak as he strode along.

Suddenly, Severus became aware that he was not alone. It began with prickling sensation on the back of his consciousness, letting him to know to be on his guard. He continued to walk as though nothing had changed feeling the presence move closer.

The sound of footsteps proved to him that it wasn't just his imagination. He whirled round, ready to berate whatever student was out of bed- only to find that there was nobody behind him.

"Potter," he snarled. "Cloak off, now."

An empty space in the corridor gave a ripple and Potter was visible, slightly apprehensive, tucking his Invisibility Cloak under one arm.

"What time is it, Potter?"

Harry took a deep breath. "About three or four in the morning, Professor."

"And at what time is it permissible to leave one's dormitory?"

"Six, sir," he admitted. "I'm sorry I … sneaked up behind you. I didn't mean to."

Severus gave a malevolent smile. "Hm… you do know the standard punishment is twenty points? How many points does Gryffindor have, now?"

"Not many, Sir."

Severus raised an eyebrow, smirking at the boy. Harry was obviously trying very hard not to annoy him, and was therefore far more terrified of him than he had ever been. "What have you got to say for yourself?"

Harry looked away. "I couldn't sleep, sir."

Severus' eyes narrowed. "Vision?"

Harry shook his head. "Nightmare."

"I offered Dreamless Sleep," Severus murmured.

"I thought you'd forgotten," returned his student, "and I didn't want to … annoy you more than I have. Merlin knows you've better things to do than worry about my nightmares."

"On the contrary, Mr. Potter," Severus hissed. "If you have nightmares, and do not sleep, what does that do to your health? Your power?"

Harry gave him a helpless pleading look. "I know they depend on me, Sir," he said. "I know that… but I … I…"

"Come," said Severus abruptly. "Laboratory, Potter."

"But-" protested his student. "Why-"

Severus resumed his brisk pace without bothering to turn around. "Would you rather lose points and have Professor McGonagall know?"

"Right," said Harry, giving in and following closely.

They walked in silence except for the click of Potter's heels on the flagstone. Finally, they reached Severus' lab.

Snape pressed left his left palm to the cold dark wood of the door and waited until the wards recognized him, which caused a dark glow to pool about his hand. With his other hand, he turned the handle, easing the door open.

"New security?" Potter asked.

"The proper word is Wards," corrected Severus, ushering him in before snapping the door shut behind them. "Sit."

Harry Potter sat without argument in the closest chair from the door.

"How much do you weigh, Potter?" demanded Snape.

Harry blinked up at him.

"Your weight, boy," he repeated.

"I don't know, sir," the boy answered slowly, "I'd guess about… "

"No guessing," snapped Snape. "A few pounds off and I could overdose you enough to knock you out until Christmas."

The boy hung his head. Snape give a heartfelt sigh drawing his wand. Immediately, Harry braced himself. "Statistico!" They watched as the purple spell enveloped Potter, and began to pulse.

"What - what is this, sir?" asked Harry, trying but failing to move a hand outside of the purple haze.

"I'm surprised you haven't been subjected to it before, it's Madam Pomfrey's favorite Reading Spell. It will tell me, among other things, your age, height, weight, last meal, last sleep…"

Harry gulped, no doubt wondering just how much Snape would find out about him. After a moment, the pulsing stopped and the purple haze lifted, collected into a fine strand, which slowly turned, stabbing into Snape's temple. Snape clapped a hand to it and stood perfectly still for a moment.

"You should take better care of yourself, Mr. Potter," he commented dryly.

Harry said nothing, wondering if it was possible to want to be someplace else enough to spark enough accidental magic to cause inadvertent Apparition and override Hogwarts' Security – Wards.

"I'm such a Muggle, sometimes," Harry muttered to himself. "Security, honestly…"

Snape returned in a moment carrying several small vials and a set of brass scales. He set them carefully on the lab table. "Allergic to Petroselinum," he muttered to himself, "that'll be negated by the Arrowroot…Have you clipped your nails recently, Potter?"

Harry looked up in surprise; surely he had misheard. "Beg pardon?"

"Your nails, Potter," repeated Severus impatiently, "have they been trimmed?"

Harry spread his fingers for inspection. "Not in a while, actually."

"Marvelous," muttered Snape dryly, drawing his wand again, "Accio Unguiculi!"

Harry gasped as he watched the excess from the tips of his fingernails fly into Snape's hand. "Wha…?"

"There's a bit of your essence needed for the potion," Snape answered his half articulated question distractedly, "and they're easier to weigh than hair."

Snape rubbed a finger over his forehead in thought as he dropped the fingernails into a mortar on the desk and cast a quick sanitation charm on them. "He weighs a hundredweight plus a quarter – needs to be one sixteenth of parallel weight. That's thirty grains per ounce, makes a dram add a scruple and a half."

Harry blinked, and watched the mortar and pestle automatically grind the fingernails, as Professor Snape set the weights on one of the scales, and spooned powdered fingernail carefully into the other until they balanced.

Snape, removing the nails from the scale and tipping them into a pint size gold cauldron on his desk asked, "You have been practicing, I hope, Potter?"

"Yes, sir," answered Harry quickly. "I haven't had a vision since our last lesson."

"Adequate," muttered Snape sourly, sending a small blue flame beneath the cauldron with a wave of his left hand. "And the Curse?"

Harry smiled. "I did as you said sir; Dumbledore agreed to remove my magical signature from the prohibitions in the castles' defenses, so that I could practice, not that he knows it'll be Avada."

"Don't let your guard down, Potter," cautioned Snape, "I'm sure your signature is still monitored, even if your curses shan't trigger the Alarms."

Harry nodded. "Yes, sir. I've practiced at odd hours, when I thought it less likely for someone to be watching the meter."

Severus carefully poured the sleeping draught into the cauldron, and it gave an annoyed hiss, letting out a stream of steam.

Harry watched, fascinated, as Professor Snape carefully added six drops from the second bottle. "Arrowroot syrup," snapped Severus in answer to his unasked question. "Just enough to counteract an allergic reaction."

The potion let out another cantankerous hiss as Severus began to stir it in a figure eight pattern with a thin metal rod.

"And the last thing you used the Curse for?"

Harry gave a wry smile. "It writes very good essays."

Severus looked up sharply. "Mr. Potter, if you think for one moment I shall let you get away with using these lessons to cheat-"

Snape broke off as he realized that Harry was unperturbed, worse yet, grinning at him.

"Just kidding."

Snape let out an exasperated sigh as he turned up the flame beneath the cauldron. "The Curse is no laughing matter, Mr. Potter. I am in no mood for levity. Kindly answer the question."

"I used it to repair the window in our dormitory actually," Potter supplied. "About two am."

A predatory grin spread over Snape's face. "I suppose the window just happened to be broken?"

Harry looked abashed. "Well, it just happened, that is to say, I just happened to have hurled my book through it."

"I see," said Snape, "and this book is presumably lying out in the cold as we speak, getting soaked in the rain?"

"It's raining?" asked Harry stupidly, looking about for a window.

"Yes, Potter, it's raining," sighed Snape. "But your book. If I might ask…"

"Defense Against Dark Arts textbook," muttered Harry. "Went on about the dangers of dueling with a Parselmouth and…"

"And I assume you noticed the information isn't quite flattering," finished Professor Snape.

"You don't understand," grumbled his student, running his hands through his hair. "It said all sorts of things. That if a Wizard could talk to snakes, he'd be vicious, ruthless, out for blood and … and that he had no soul. Wasn't – wasn't human."

Snape sighed. "Potter, you must understand by now that… Parseltongue simply isn't an ordinary ability. It is not a Dark ability, but it is also not a human ability."

"So it is true, then," sighed Potter. "I'm everything they said I was in second year."

"Lack of a small part of one's humanity does not necessarily make one a monster, Potter," admonished Snape. "No one knows the cause, but you simply have an … affinity… for the animals. The ability to not only communicate with them, but to also think as they do."

"Exactly. So I'll never be human. I'll always be…"

"Well, Lupin shall always be a Werewolf, shan't he?" asked Snape. "And though he's lost far more of his humanity to his Curse than you have to your Gift, you still think of him as a normal man, do you not?"

"I didn't think of it that way," admitted Harry.

"It is a gift," said Snape firmly. "You would do well to use it as best you can. I doubt the Headmaster's told you this, in fact, I doubt he's admitted it to himself, but, considering this gift of yours, you are quite capable of Wandless Magic."

Harry looked up, confusedly. "Isn't everybody? I mean, I've done it before- blew up my Aunt for Merlin's sake. Nobody ever said anything."

"That would be because anyone would naturally assume you had done that with your Wand. It is not a human gift, nor a common one." explained Snape gently, extinguishing the flame on the Potion with a flick of the wrist.

"But you've just done it!" protested Harry, before realizing that had been a profoundly stupid thing to say.

The glare Snape sent his way silenced him. Harry gulped. Abruptly Snape whirled around and busied himself carefully ladling the finished potion into a vial.

"I'm – I'm sorry, sir," said Harry, wincing as his Professor slammed the now corked bottle in front of him.

"Take no more than a dram before you sleep," instructed Professor Snape, his voice flat. "It lasts ten hours; so do not take it now. I suggest you hurry before you're caught out of bed after hours."

"Yes sir," said Harry miserably, knowing that any further attempt to apologize would only make matters worse. "Good night, sir."

Taking the vial, Potter fled the lab in a flurry of black.

Snape was intensely angry with himself. He should have had better control than to revert to the habit of Casting without a Wand during brewing. "Let's hope to Circe the boy knows enough to keep his mouth shut," he muttered.

Of a sudden he was extraordinarily tired. He left the laboratory and walked tiredly back to his rooms. Perhaps he could sleep a bit in the three hours left before breakfast.


	38. Poison Plots

**Poison Plots **

Remus sat in his kitchen quietly sipping his morning tea alone, as Philomena was not yet up. He resisted the temptation to slam his forehead into his kitchen table. He had already eaten and it wasn't even six o'clock yet but Moony was hungry.

"I'll need to let her out," he mumbled to himself, "or I'll go mad. Next moon, lock myself in, the shack again, maybe."

Moony wasn't happy. She was missing something.

Remus groaned and put his head in his hands. It was disconcerting in the extreme to feel Moony's thoughts while in human form, particularly as Moony's thoughts hardly ever took the shape of words, but rather ghostly physical sensations and emotions.

"Wonder what a normal wolf thinks like," he mused. "Is it also always looking for something to rip to shreds?"

Moony was missing something. Moony wanted something.

"What is it?" Remus asked in desperation. "What is it that she wants?"

Moony remembered running long and fast, remembered being happy. Moony wanted it back. She remembered that the forest was dark, and that she had run franticly after something. She wanted it back.

An owl tapped on the glass, and Remus jumped to let it in. "Thanks," he muttered vaguely, while untying the knot and shaking out the scroll.

Severus' meticulous handwriting leered up at him:

_Lupin, _

_If you expect I care whether I'm invited or not before barging into your home to 'yell' as you put it, you haven't been paying attention during the last few weeks. _

_No thanks are necessary. We do have an agreement. What I do, I do not do for you. _

_Bill Weasley is an idiot, no need to mention that. _

_As for Albus, I thank you for your pains, but it was quite unnecessary to agonize over such a trivial matter. _

_You did mention earlier that the Wolf was making itself known to you in your Human form – I have taken the Caldaic Oath after all, and must needs be sure what I pour down your throat actually works, and even without that, I have some sense of morality, which makes it hard to leave a man in danger of becoming a slavering beast more often than usual. _

_Regards, _

_Snape. _

Remus sighed, tossing the letter onto the table. "Would it kill him to be nice, just this once?"

Moony was furiously angry, and wanted to slash his throat, but he wasn't there anymore. Moony wanted the other one back. The other one that had made her happy. Moony was hungry.

XXX

Severus was sitting at breakfast, when a large gray owl swooped towards him, nearly upsetting his goblet. Testily, he righted his drink before it could spill into his lap and glared at the bird.

Surprisingly, it didn't leave him in search of another recipient, but simply hooted impatiently at him and stuck out a leg.

"Got another contact?" asked McGonagall snidely. "I've heard stories, are they all pretty young things?"

"You wouldn't have had to rely upon stories if you'd made it to the meeting yourself," returned Severus easily, untying the letter and shooing the owl, which gave an annoyed hoot before it flew off.

Severus discreetly cast a wandless Magic Detection spell, which showed him nothing more than a mere anti-smudging charm and a rather standard spell to ensure that it could only be read by the intended recipient. With a grimace he snapped the wax and unfolded the missive. His grimace grew into a frown of distaste when a heady perfume assaulted his nose, and developed into a look of fury when he had read it.

_"My Dear Master Snape, _

_My honored husband must have somehow made an enemy of you, which I deeply regret, considering how closely you are forced to work for those we shall not mention in a letter. It pains me greatly to have to inform you that he means to give you a gift, in the German sense of the word. I beg of you to smooth things over between you both before matters take such a drastic turn, and either of you is forced to deprive He Whom We Serve of a follower. _

_Yours, _

_Narcissa Malfoy _

Gritting his teeth, he folded it carefully and tucked it into a pocket. "Silly woman, thinking she can manipulate me so easily," he thought to himself.

Taking a sip of his tea he set his face carefully casual, and turned to the Headmaster. "Headmaster, if I may remind you, you said you'd speak to me on that matter of the Sminkgrass Potion?"

Albus twinkled at him, and nodded. "Do you have enough time after breakfast and before your first class?"

Severus nodded curtly. "I have an hour before I must endure the Ravenclaw NEWT class."

"We'll go to my office, then," said the Headmaster. "Is the brewing going well?"

"Not at all, Headmaster," murmured Severus, "in fact, it's become quite a deadly toxin."

"What's Sminkgrass?" Vector asked Sprout in a harsh whisper.

Sprout gave a helpless shrug.

Snape refrained from grinning at how easily they'd fallen for his ploy. "Oh, and Minerva," he said to her as he passed the butter to Hagrid, "this one's a rather pretty blond, but a bit snooty for my taste."

XXX

Lucius Malfoy's boots clicked smartly on the flagstones of Knockturn alley as he looked for the shop his wife had mentioned. While he hated to follow her advice, he rationalized that she couldn't possibly know whether he'd actually done as she'd said or not. It was frankly not so much a matter of who had told him how, but what he managed to do.

He raised his hand to make sure that his cloak shadowed his face sufficiently. It simply wouldn't do to have a Malfoy recognized in Knockturn Alley, at least not until he was in the presence of somebody who knew enough not to blab.

Satisfied that he was incognito, he wrenched open the rickety door to the out-of-the-way shop, and descended the stairs.

It appeared to be empty, but that was the norm for shops on Knockturn Alley as opposed to the crowded bustle on Diagon. The place was forbiddingly neat, shelf upon shelf of perfectly arranged glass bottles, the contents of each more stomach churning than the last.

He waited for a moment, idly glancing over labels, before the Owner shuffled in, swathed in his usual heavy robes, his face carefully masked. Lucius turned and lowered his hood to reveal a practiced charming grin, which to his disappointment did not have the usual effect, nor did the man seem to recognize him.

"What canna do for ya?"

Lucius refrained from cringing at the man's accent and allowed himself a slight sneer. "I require the assistance," he said smoothly, "of a Master of the Greatest of Arts."

"Aye, yer wife told ya just what to say, did she?" remarked the Owner snidely. "What does she want?"

"I want," replied Lucius, "a poison, delicate enough, tasteless enough, and subtle enough to fool a Master."

"How good a Master?" asked the Owner, not the least bit startled by the request.

"The best," answered Lucius curtly. "He will not be fooled by the common ones, nor the great ones shoddily done. Therefore, I seek the best."

"I see," said the Owner. "An' what proof does tha have?"

"Proof of what?" asked Lucius.

"Well, I'd be a great fool sellin' such a poison to just anyone, wouldna I be?" asked the Owner from behind his heavy mask. "Since if one wants ta do it righ' one destroys all traces, yes? And I'd be handy a trace enough, wouldna I be?"

Lucius sighed. "You may place me under a Fidelity Charm," he said in a bored tone. "If your poison's good enough, there shan't be an investigation to hide from. The law shall not become involved, 'tis a purely private matter."

"Na, na," said the Owner. "Investigations Ah've no fear of. They'll deal ma fair as the law holds- but ya'd kill me like as a fly to make sure I didna tell a soul. And that wouldna do at all, Mr. Malfoy."

"Again," repeated Lucius, "you may place me under any Fidelity Charm you care for."

"That's na good enough," protested the Owner. "Your word as a Wizard- a formal Oath. Bind it and bring it back ta ma, by tomorrow. Ah'll see wha' I can find in the meantime. A Master, ya said?"

"I hardly think a formal Oath is necessary," protested Lucius.

"Ah, but I hardly think I'll be selling ya anythin' without," interrupted the Owner. "Good day."

Lucius was about to retort, but the faceless stare from the Owner's mask unnerved him enough to make him forget what he was about to say.

"Mr. Malfoy," said the Owner softly, dangerously, "unless yer wantin' somethin' else, which Ah highly doubt, ya will leave until ya can give me an Oath."

Trying to act as though he still controlled the situation Lucius have a toss of his head, turned on his heel, and left without a backwards glance. Inwardly, he was seething. "Damnit all," he grumbled when he was back on the grimy street. "He'd have given it to Severus without batting an eye."

XXX

Severus, finished with breakfast, laid his fork down and gave a careful nod to the Headmaster. Albus caught his eye, and turned his head first slightly towards the exit, and then back to Minerva, with whom he was speaking about the last Order meeting. Severus gave a nod, and left the table, understanding that the Headmaster would follow as soon as he was able.

Professor Snape left the Great Hall and made his way towards the Headmaster's Office. He'd hardly made it halfway to the first staircase, when he heard hurried footsteps behind him and a frantic call of "Professor."

Potter.

Snape stopped dead, and took a deep breath. "I believe your next class is not with me, Potter."

"I wanted to apologize," Harry said, adjusting his spectacles.

Snape drew himself up to his most intimidating stance. "You will not mention the matter again."

The boy nodded curtly. "Thank you sir. Shall I see you tonight as arranged, then?"

Snape nodded.

"Good day, sir," said Potter with another of his curt little nods, before he disappeared around the corner.

Severus went on his way, wondering when Potter had started being quite so reserved. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that he was practically imprisoned within Hogwarts walls and was trying to keep in everybody's good graces - or it could simply be his way of ensuring that their lessons continued.

Severus quickened his pace, retrieving the letter again from his pocket. Shaking it open he cast Confirmare, causing it to briefly glow pink.

"Paranoid as always, Severus?" came the Headmaster's voice. "Are you that uncertain as to the sender?"

Severus turned, and waited for Albus to catch up with him. "Yes, Headmaster, when somebody threatens my life I generally like to be sure I know who they are."

"Your life?" asked Albus, taking the letter.

Albus began to read as they walked side by side until they reached the headmasters office.

"Droobles Best," said Albus cheerily to the gargoyle, which hopped out of the way, revealing the staircase. The two stood as the stairs slowly spiraled upwards, landing with a jolt at the Headmaster's door.

"A gift in the German sence?" asked Albus.

Severus gave a half smile. "The word 'gift' in German means 'poison.'"

"Yes, yes, I'd forgotten." Albus opened the door, and allowed Severus in first. Severus entered the office and stood behind his usual chair, hands gripping the back of it.

"So, my boy," said Albus, sinking into his own chair, "what has Lucius got against you?"

Severus sighed. "It's complicated," he answered. "I've agreed to help him in a scheme of his, partly because I need his help to sabotage the current Blood Magic problem, and frankly, if I'd refused there'd have been a lot of trouble. He's tried to get me to suspect our third confederate, and I do believe he intends to come out of this alone and omnipotent, without either of us to help or hinder him."

Dumbledore nodded slowly.

"On the other hand," continued Severus, "he might not intend to kill me at all, but this could be some scheme of Narcissa's. You know Draco comes of age quite soon, and I wouldn't put it past that woman to try to have Lucius eliminated before that happens so that she may inherit. She could be hoping I kill him for her."

Dumbledore nodded again.

"There's a third possibility that she wrote this on Lucius' order, as a test of my trust. He could be waiting for me to write back that it's impossible and whatnot."

Severus broke off speaking when a deep sigh interrupted him.

"My boy," said Dumbledore, "whichever possibility it is, I must beg you to be cautious. You know how much-"

"I am needed, yes," interrupted Severus. "I assure that I take my antidotes regularly, and that when needed I am quite capable of performing a Detection Charm."

"I was going to say, how much easier it would be to use this as a distraction," put in Dumbledore. "They could be hoping you to be so much on your guard against poison, that you let it down in some other area…"

Severus nodded. "I am aware of that, and quite capable of handling the matter myself, sir. I merely wished to inform you of the situation, that in the event of… a mishap, arrangements could be made."

Dumbledore said nothing for a moment, eyebrows knit in thought. He wondered again whether Remus was right, and that he ought to reassure Severus of his trust and hang the risk.

"Take care of yourself, Severus," he said finally.

"Good day, Headmaster." Snape turned on his heel and left the office.

"A bit drastic," said Albus idly to Fawkes, "but I have been looking for an excuse to have Severus take better care of himself. I worry about him, you know."

Fawkes trilled and began to preen. Albus watched the bird idly, turning thoughts about in his mind.

"He's not been looking well, lately, there's much he hasn't been telling me," Albus went on. "I'm worried he's taking too much on himself at once- perhaps if I give him more duties here, he won't be able to delve into Voldemort's politics more deeply than absolutely necessary to gain the information we need."


	39. The Visitor

**The Visitor **

After dinner, Severus made his way to his own quarters, planning on doing some more research into Blood Magic before making his way to Remus' to see to the problem mentioned in the letter. However, he had not planned on finding a robed and masked someone leaning against his door.

"Greetings," said the figure. "We need to talk."

Severus inclined his head. "Master of the Greatest of Arts," he said. "It is not your wont to leave your laboratory."

Snape tried not to let his confusion show – the man appeared to have a double Aura, that of the Owner, and one Severus believed he ought to recognize, but could not place. Knowing that revealing his unusual ability would be less than advantageous, he was careful not to let his suspicion show.

"It is also not my wont to let my friends be poisoned," replied the Owner, his voice impassive. "I'd rather not be seen, and I haven't much time."

Severus narrowed his eyes, confused by the absolute lack of the man's otherwise heavy accent. "I find it intriguing you managed to enter the school."

"Access," replied the Owner, "once had, is very hard to lose. Please, I can't discuss this in a hallway."

Taking a deep breath to steady his nerves, Severus began the subtle art of taking down his Wards wandlessly without being obvious.

"I'm afraid I don't understand," Snape said to gain time. "The Formula - did it malfunction?"

"On the contrary, it tested perfectly, though I have not yet used it," replied the Owner. "That is not what I've come to speak to you about."

"You mentioned poison," Severus went on. "Did you object to one of the items I took as payment?"

"Na," replied the Owner. "That I didn't. I do object, however, to the idea of your death. It would put me quite out of sorts."

The Wards down, Severus motioned the Owner aside and made a show of tapping a panel of his door with his wand before entering, then ushering the other man through.

"Sit down," he said, waiving a hand towards a chair. "Poison, you said?"

"Impressive wandless Magic, my cousin," said the Owner reaching up to undo his mask. "I see you've not lost it."

Severus froze as the man's mask fell to the table, revealing the last face he'd expected to see. "Igor!"

Karkaroff smiled, and spread his hands in a gesture that reminded Severus momentarily of Albus.

"Me," he answered. "I took your advice, hid in plain sight. It worked very well. Who would expect a man going into hiding to pretend to be a man in hiding? It's worked, Severus, apparently far better than I'd thought- I was sure the first time you walked into the Shop that I'd been discovered. As it is, I do believe I owe you a Life Debt."

Severus blinked and slowly sank into his chair. "Why is it that the people whose lives I end up saving are all either Bulgarian or Gryffindors?"

Karkaroff shrugged out of his bulky outer robes and tossed his gloves upon the table. Severus noted vaguely that the ridiculous goatee was gone. "It could have more than a little to do with the fact that you are partially both."

"I am not partially Gryffindor," snapped Snape. "Not in the least."

Igor grinned. "Are you trying to tell me that you are not courageous?"

"If you go by that logic, cousin," said Severus, "I would also be a Ravenclaw and a Vampire."

Karkaroff sighed. "It's a pity you did not attend Durmstrang. I wonder where you'd have placed there. Definitely not with me, I am Grey."

"Small wonder you ended up in a house known for ambivalence," remarked Snape.

"That, my friend, I shall admit to," Igor shrugged. "I debated for quite some time whether I ought to come here, and if so, whether I ought to reveal myself."

Snape nodded. "You've apparently decided."

Karkaroff nodded in turn. "One must, on occasion, trust somebody. I trust you, Severus."

Severus smirked. "That could have a little to do with the fact that I've now saved your life twice, or perhaps the fact that we are blood relatives."

"Yes, that's true," sighed Igor. "However, that's not my reason for trusting you."

"Don't tell me it's because of the Seer blood on your mother's side," scoffed Snape. "You know as well as I do that it's a strictly feminine gift - though it does perhaps explain your interest in my Draught."

"An amazing formula, in truth, and a pity mother didn't live to have use of it," replied Karkaroff. "Please, you make me lose my train of thought… Yes. I have always trusted you, Severus, because you are an honorable man."

Severus blinked. "Honorable?"

Karkaroff nodded. "Perhaps not in a conventional sense, but where it counts, you've always done your best to keep the scales balanced, for good or for ill. You've always given people their due, regardless of how they treated you. And you've a peculiar notion of loyalty, particularly towards family, the little of it we both have left at any rate."

"You mean to tell me that you'll put your life on the line because you believe I've some notion of justice?" Snape smirked.

"There's also the fact that you're fiercely protective of your countrymen."

Severus shook his head. "I've no love for any country," he said.

"Precisely," said Karkaroff, "another reason to trust you –because you don't trust, you have never trusted. You'll never let the propaganda or goals of any government or group hold more sway than your judgment. And as I've said, your judgment is always fair. You've a belief in balance."

Snape sighed. "Balance," he repeated. "Yes, I suppose I do."

Karkaroff grinned. "Which is why I trust you not to reveal my location or identity. After all, you apparently never passed on the last note I gave you revealing my plans to go to Australia. I thought you would, I was hoping it would put them off the trail… I thought you'd think I'd not taken your advice."

Severus shook his head. "I never believed that," he said. "It would be most foolish to give our Lord false information. Though apparently he's not above giving us some - we've been informed of your untimely demise, though I didn't believe that either. I knew the moment I read that letter you were bluffing. After all, we'd hardly been on good terms that year."

Igor shook his head in amusement. "There you have me, cousin. I was trying my best to prove myself outwardly suspicious of you. I wanted my student to win, and I could not be seen on friendly terms with those considered rivals. My students…the Board..."

"Which is just as well," mused Severus, "as Crouch, insane though he was, was probably passing back information on our every step. It is just as well that the Dark Lord doesn't believe I hold anything for you besides contempt."

Karkaroff sighed. "I would beg you to join me, Severus, but I know better."

Severus frowned, and let out a deep sigh. "We can't all break away."

"I don't pretend to know your reasons for continuing to serve- " Snape was about to protest, but Igor held up a hand and continued, "- and I don't want to know. Nobody is ever completely safe. I would be a fool if I did not believe myself still in danger from the Dark Lord and his followers. The less I know, the less I can betray. I believe that you do what you think is best, and I trust your judgment in such matters."

"Which doesn't explain why you're sitting here," reminded Severus. "I'm sure you came to tell me something more interesting than what you think of me."

"Lucius Malfoy," said Karkaroff shortly, "is going to poison you."

Severus let out a dry laugh. "Two in one day - must be some sort of record."

"Two what?"

"Warnings of my assassination," replied Severus.

"Well, I'm sure your first source didn't supply you with an antidote," said Igor, rummaging about in the voluminous outer robe he'd left draped on the back of the chair.

"That it didn't," admitted Severus. "It did, however, come from the doubtful source of his wife."

Karkaroff gave a disgusted groan. "Bendis, that woman is poison personified!"

Severus nodded. "I'd almost feel sorry for Lucius, but considering the way he's been plotting of late, and the possibility that he's trying to murder me, he almost deserves her."

Karkaroff, having finally found what he'd been searching for, offered Severus a small cut-glass vial. "There. One antidote to the most slippery, tasteless Poison I have ever brewed. Or rather, the nastiest one I'd dare sell Lucius. It's a personal invention of mine, so you won't have an antidote in your own stores, though doubtless if I'd published it anywhere, you would have. He was quite insistent that it not be a standard Formula. It's a variation on the Alica Cruoris."

Severus looked at him, and raised an eyebrow. "As you said, I do not trust anybody."

Karkaroff shook his head. "I did not think you would. You are quite welcome to test it. However, it is well I had some on hand, as it takes two months of fermentation to activate, and I doubt you have that much time."

Severus sighed and held out his hand for the vial, which Karkaroff readily handed over. "Confirmare." The vial glowed pink.

"What's the Potion's base?" asked Snape. "Does it react badly with caffeine or Belladonna? Is it permanent, or will I need to take it often?"

Karkaroff held up a hand to stop the questions. "The base is an Animadvertigum, and it has no physical side effects. Caffeine or Belladonna won't cause any problems, but you will want to avoid Monkswort unless absolutely necessary. It should remain in your system for roughly six months, when it begins to wear off, you will experience severe headaches."

Satisfied, Severus uncorked the vial and downed it without another moment's hesitation. He gave a grimace, and handed the vial back. "You always were a flashy Brewer, going for style rather than substance. Honestly, man, must your every Potion taste like raspberries?"

Karkaroff smiled. "High praise from your lips, cousin. The taste is my signature, excepting of course in tasteless Poisons."

"In which case your 'signature' consists of giving the victims Antidotes in advance," said Snape dryly.

"Only for family," replied Igor. "I'll warn you now, though, there will still be some symptoms from the Poison that aren't avoidable, even with the Antidote. I recommend having something to counteract dizziness and nausea at the ready. Lucius' usual method is to poison his enemies in full view of any other enemies he might have, first to make sure he gets the right man, and second to impress his power on the others while outwardly showing the greatest surprise at his victim's demise."

Severus nodded.. "I am greatly in your debt, Igor," he said seriously. "Is there anything you would consider in return?"

"Actually, there is," replied Igor. "You remember how happy I was when you told me of the advances you made to Cassandra's Draught? Well, I have a niece- she's a Seer."

Severus looked up in surprise. "A niece? Impossible. You've no siblings."

A shadow passed over Karkaroff's face. "My elder brother was disinherited before I was three. I don't know him very well. But… several years ago I met my niece when he visited. It was just after I'd inherited the estate and he'd come to demand a share. She is an incredible girl, with incredible talents, but, much as it pains me, my brother is not a nice man, and I do not approve of his method of treating her Visions."

Severus knitted his eyebrows. "I don't understand," he said. "The research and testing were agonizing, I grant you, but the Draught itself is relatively simple. You are, as you style it, a Master of the Greatest of Arts. You should have no trouble beyond convincing her to drink it."

Igor sighed. "That doesn't help if I can't find the girl. My brother's a squib. Unfortunately he's a slippery criminal and at times I believe his condition has caused him mental instability. He's fled Britain. I simply haven't been able to locate either of them."

Severus slowly blinked and stared at his cousin, an impossible suspicion forming in his mind. "Your brother wouldn't also just so happen to be a Werewolf, would he?" he asked.

Karkaroff flinched, and then nodded shakily. "How…?"

"He wouldn't also," continued Snape, "just so happen to go by the name of Ralf?"

Karkaroff stared at his cousin wide eyed, his jaw beginning to drop.

"And your niece's name is Philomena?" Severus pressed.

"Bendis!" Karkaroff swore. "How in the name of the Horsemen did you know that?"

Snape spread his fingers in a mockery of Igor's earlier gesture. "She just so happens to be the daughter of a former colleague of mine."

"Ralf?" asked Karkaroff, shocked. "Whenever did you become involved with-"

"Not him, Igor," interrupted Snape. "Her … other parent."

"Have you seen her?" asked Karkaroff. "Is she well? Where is she staying? Is she being treated well-"

"Igor!" snapped Severus. "Please, one question at a time. Yes, I have seen her. In fact, I've done more than that; I've cured her, and reversed that damnable Stasis Magic she was under. She is perfect health at the moment, and her father is an honorable man, and does his best by her."

"Her father?" asked Ralf in complete confusion. "But you said she wasn't with Ralf…"

Severus groaned. "He's a Werewolf - your brother bit him, and he's… Merlin knows I don't want to know the details of their physiology."

Igor slowly nodded. "When I find Ralf I am going to have to hurt him, family or no family. I cannot believe he left her with a man he does not know, when he's known for years that I would gladly take her in as my own. It could be worse, though, she could still be with that thrice condemned Muggle."

Snape lifted an eyebrow. "Gordon?"

Igor gave an exasperated cry. "Is there anything you don't know?"

Snape smirked. "How could I tell if I didn't know something I didn't know I ought to have? I can't very well use a Remembral..."

Severus abruptly snickered, as Karkaroff tried to work out what had just been said.

Karkaroff shook his head to clear it, looked at the other man with a raised eyebrow, then continued, "I do not merely trust you. I believe I shall have to worship you."

"Do, do," said Snape dismissively, "fall at my feet. There's plenty of room."

Igor looked up sharply at this uncharacteristic joke. "The lightheadedness you're feeling is a temporary effect of the introduction of the Antidote to your system. It won't last more than an hour."

Severus' face took on an expression of horror when he realized what he'd said. "Sweet Merlin, you might have warned me. You said there weren't any side effects."

Karkaroff shrugged. "I said physical side effects. And had you known, you probably wouldn't have taken it. The safety is worth the inconvenience of an hour's high spirits."

Severus ran a hand through his hair. "Damn you, Igor," he sighed. "I hate it when you're right. We won't discuss it."

"Tell me where she is located," begged Igor. "Please. I haven't seen her in some time, and I've been worried."

"As a matter of fact," said Snape, rising, "I intended to go see him on a completely unrelated matter this evening. Have you time to accompany me?"

Karkaroff shook his head. "I'm afraid I don't," he replied. "And dropping in like this would be most impolite. I ought at the very least send a letter ahead to tell him we're … related."

"As long as you've Philomena's affection, he shan't stand in your way of seeing you," replied Snape. "He's quite the doting parent. Come to think of it, I'm… I'm related to him!"

Karkaroff blinked. "How?"

"You're his brother in law, so to speak, and I'm your cousin… Dear sweet Circe, that's revolting! I've been pretending to be related with that girl all this time, and I actually am."

"Beg pardon?" asked Karkaroff, clearly quite confused. "Pretending? What? I don't understand."

Snape sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Oh never mind," he said. "It's not my place to explain, really."

Snape rose and fetched his Cloak, fastening it at his throat with Lupin's clasp.

"An interesting clasp," said Igor, rising and joining his cousin to get a better look. "An extremely powerful Spell. What is it?"

Severus smiled enigmatically. "Something to make my little cousin ask… damnit! I can't talk to him in this condition, he'll think me mad."

Karkaroff shrugged. "Or simply happy."

Severus looked outraged. "Happy? Me?"

Karkaroff didn't look in the slightest perturbed. "If you're so worried about it, you could always stay within your quarters until it passes."

"I don't have time for that," groused Snape. "Damnit- if you'd told me it would make me this giddy…"

"You said we wouldn't discuss it," said Karkaroff mildly. "Besides, I have other business to get to. I really must go."

"Can I Owl your shop?" asked Snape. "I shall talk with Philomena, and see what she and her father think."

"You Owl my shop often enough for ingredients," replied Karkaroff easily. "I don't believe anybody would question it. In fact, it would look stranger if you didn't Owl."

"I still cannot fathom why I didn't recognize you," complained Snape, sounding almost peevish. "Your Aura, or at the very least your voice…"

"Vell," said Karkaroff lightly, as they left the room, "iv von haz an aczent, zen ze people, zey get distracted, no? An' a bit' o' alteration on tha' Aura, tha's easy enough with a Glamour, an' there's not many as can sense them is there, Snape?"

Severus shook his head in amusement as he reset his Wards. The two made their way out of the Castle, ignoring a very startled student they passed on their way to the main Gates. Once they were fully outside the grounds, they Apparated their separate ways with a crack.


	40. The Giddy and the Growling

**The Giddy and the Growling**

Severus arrived at the edge of Remus' wards. Staggering slightly he lifted a hand to his head and massaged a temple. Slowly, he began the stumble towards the cottage. The wind was harsh and bit into his face, sharp and cold.

Staggering, he reached the door and rapped on it. Clutching the doorframe as another wave of dizziness hit.

Philomena opened the door, and Snape grinned at her. "Good evening Ms. Moony," he said heartily, clasping a hand to her shoulder and leading her back into the warmth of the house. "My, but you look ravishing tonight!"

She stared at him, her eyes wide, and seemed about to say something, but Lupin abruptly dived at Snape from the other side of the kitchen and wrenched Snape away from her, slamming him the wall.

Snape got unsteadily to his feet. "Have you been drinking, Lupin?" he drawled. "Because it seems you just mistook me for Fletcher."

Remus came back to himself, furiously berating Moony for reacting the way she did. "I'm sorry, Severus. Please sit down."

"It's quite all right," Severus dismissed, fwumping into a chair. "No need to apologize."

Moony recognized a concession when she saw one, and considering the battle won, subsided.

"What's gotten into the pair of you?" cried Philomena.

Remus looked pained. "Would you please leave us alone for fifteen minutes? I'll explain, I promise, but it is extremely hard to keep my head with both of you in the same room."

Philomena looked warily to Snape, who merely smiled and waved her off. Confused, but recognizing that she could not help, she nodded and left.

Severus turned and stared at Remus. "Lupin, listen," he said. "I'm currently a bit out of sorts due to a Potion that hasn't quite settled itself yet. Don't let your little Gryffindor heart upset itself."

"Severus," said Remus, "I'm glad you came so soon. I need your help. I am slowly losing my mind."

Severus sobered, as much as he could. It was as though his mind has split on some level; on side of him swept up in a wave of unfamiliar exuberance, while the other looked on in horror, unable to intervene. "You mentioned a problem with the Wolf, and trouble sleeping."

Remus nodded. "Remember, Sunday, I told you I had begun to sense Moony while in Human form?"

Severus nodded. "You said it was negligible at the time. Amazing how some things progress." Snape inexplicably gave a little chuckle. "Like fungus. Or the flue."

Remus looked sharply at his companion. It wasn't as if the man never laughed, but to laugh at something so trivial was beneath his usual dignity. "Are you all right?"

Severus laughed. "Just charming. Go on."

Slowly Remus nodded, mentally readying himself to Floo for Albus or St. Mungo's if needed.

"The Wolf and I are completely separate entities, as I've told you," Remus began. "In my body, my mind is in control. When I transform, my mind does as well, and Moony thinks and does what she wills. With the Wolfsbane, my mind remains the same on the metaphysical level.

"However, several months ago, I began to experience a certain struggle during the transformation, as she tried to break the bonds of the Potion. I didn't think much of it at the time, attributing it simply to becoming accustomed to the substance, and it becoming less effective as a result.

"But it got worse. My mind would sometimes lose, and Moony would take over, lashing out at everything and anything, as she did before. It wasn't an extreme problem, as I've always kept myself far from anybody during the Change, and while not in control I remained present, and could usually fight my way back to the fore and calm her.

"Last Moon she took nearly total control. At times I was forced out altogether and cannot remember what took place. I do believe her mind, being repressed, becomes all the more fierce, violent, whenever it can get loose.

"Lately, starting about a month ago, I have felt her presence in my mind. I said nothing, as it was merely the introduction of some vague thought of hers into my consciousness, and I was able to repress her quite easily. But now- she has occasionally broken through whatever power I have and taken control of me, in a ghastly reversal of the usual Change.

"It's never lasted more than half a minute but the thought that it could get worse, that she could harm somebody while I can do nothing, it terrifies me. Just now, she threw you across the room, and Merlin knows I'm sorry for not being able to stop her, but she was so angry …"

Remus fell silent.

Severus had leant back in his chair, his steepled fingers tapping idly at his chin. "It does appear that repressing her completely has negative effects," he mused. "Once solution would be to let her loose each Moon, though that would be a last resort, considering the damage and pain that could cause. It would give her no reason to fight for control outside of the Moon."

Remus shook his head. "My sanity is very close to all I have left of humanity, Severus," he said. "If it means going back to Changing behind triple bolted doors and tearing myself to bits every month, then yes, I'm willing to go that far."

Severus tsked lightly. "Now, now, Remus. You mustn't get overly suicidal. I did say that was a last resort. Why is it that nobody listensto6 what I say beyond what they don't want to hear?"

For a split second his face was formed in a peevish pout that made him look so much like a hawk that Remus had to stifle a laugh, before it cleared and formed a wry smile once again.

"There are other, less painful possibilities," continued Severus. "Tell me what it's like when she is in your mind. Describe it, best you can."

Remus frowned. "At first… I feel like I do when I'm dreaming. Knowing somehow that something isn't right, but at the same time caught up in the reality presented to me. Then it develops into panic when I realize that she has insinuated some terrible thought or desire into my brain that I had no control over and then… it goes blank until she leaves and I'm left with only a very vague idea of what happened while she was in control."

Severus ran a hand through his hair. "Interesting, sounds like Legilimency coupled with the Imperious Curse. Though goodness knows nobody would want to try those two at once, who would want to experience the same suffering they were inflicting? Like to see the Dark Lord try that."

Remus sucked in a lip, shooting a concerned glance at his friend. Snape had never made something remotely resembling a joke concerning Voldemort. He noted that Severus' pupils were quite dilated, and that he was as flushed as his complexion would allow. "Are you sure you're all right? You might want to lie down."

Severus wave a careless hand. "It will pass; an hour, he said,"

"Who said?" asked Remus. "What in the name of Diana have you taken?"

"Antidote," said Severus. "Because if I hadn't I'd probably not make the next Order meeting. Damnit, I thought I'd at least make the end of November before somebody tried to kill me again."

Severus lapsed into silence, his eyes narrowed and his head bowed. Remus, recognizing that the man was not only deep in thought, but also struggling as best he could under the effects of whatever Potion he had taken, remained silent and waited.

At last Severus lifted his head and looked Remus in the eye. "Occlumency."

Remus started. "Beg pardon?"

"Defensive Magic of the Mind," Severus said. "If it can keep the Dark Lord out, it ought to make short work through a Shewolf."

Remus nodded. "I know you're a Master at it," he replied, "but I've never even looked at the theory."

"Silly Werewolf," chided Severus, "it's Defense. You ought to know ALL of your chosen field. You know what they say about specialists. Know more and more about less and less until they know everything about nothing at all. Although that's a ridiculous saying since the Metaphysics of Absolute Zero is quite fascinating."

Remus blinked. "Are you willing to teach me?" he asked. "Or at least recommend a course of study?"

"As a matter of fact," replied Severus, "I have enough on my plate as it is without teaching you how to keep your head intact. I've got Potter to teach, my job to do, plots to disrupt, the Dark Lord to fool, and Dumbledore to please. I'm swamped."

As Remus' face fell, he was quick to add, "But don't look so glum, the world still has a few days left before it goes to pieces. I've got a book for you. Merlin knows I'll never get round to reading it, and there are only so many illegal items one can carry around without getting absurdly paranoid."

Snape reached into the pocket of his cloak, which Remus belatedly realized he had never offered to hang, and pulled out an rather large book, which he slammed onto the table. "A Legilimency text, of high illegality. Has been owned by several notable figures, including Winston Churchill, although it was transfigured into a tie at the time."

Curious, Remus opened the book, and began to flip through it.

"The appendix is the only part devoted to Occlumency and defensive techniques," remarked Snape, "but you'll have to read the rest to be able to understand that."

Remus read a few paragraphs of the introduction silently. "It does sound very much like our battles for control. It's worth a try."

"As the French say," began Snape, "everything's worth trying, at least once. Though I don't agree with them in the slightest, as there are certain things I'd simply rather not consider."

Remus gave a wry smile, and shook his head. "I thank you very much, Severus," he said. "I'll return the book as soon as I can."

Severus nodded. "It isn't as if I actually had time to read it, much as I should like to. I've had to rely on the legal until a … somebody was able to procure this for me."

Remus nodded. "I'll take care of it. Thank you very much for your help. I couldn't trust a Mediwizard or Magipsyche with the problem, either would have me up before the Control of Magical Creatures Office in no time at all."

Snape smiled. "Simply delighted to spared you from their clutches," he drawled. "Merlin knows I'd hate to lose you- who would I steel chocolate from without you?"

Remus shook his head. "Whatever you've taken has clearly fogged your mind slightly."

"Not really," replied Severus lightly. "It's still there, it simply isn't working properly. I shall hate myself in the morning."

"You'll kindly remember that I gave you several opportunities to go lie down till it passed, I hope," returned Remus.

"There's something I should like to … propose to you," said Severus. "I have recently come into contact with a man. Ralf's brother."

Lupin grimaced. "I didn't know he had one."

Snape nodded. "He does. I have known the man since I was two, and though he is at times less than decisive, he is a good man. He's from a very old, wealthy, Bulgarian family. He has tauight Defence AGainst Dark Arts, and was Headmaster of a very prestigious Academy."

Remus looked guarded. "What are you getting at?"

Severus took a deep breath. "He neither knows Ralf well, nor cares deeply for him. In fact, he's of the opinion that Ralf is not only a criminal but deranged. He has, however, met his niece, Philomena, and has grown very fond of her. He's been looking for them, trying his best to convince Ralf to name him guardian, so that he could reverse the damage, and take her in as his own. He is childless himself."

Snape stopped abruptly as he realized that Remus was facing him with the coldest expression he'd ever seen the man wear. "Are you trying to convince me to give her up?"

"Not at all," soothed Severus. "He simply wants to visit. He's worried about her, and wants to be sure that she is in good hands. If possible, I do believe he would like to help in any way, but as she's very near her majority anyway, I doubt it will be an issue."

Remus' eyes remained cold, and Severus suspected that Moony was doing a fair bit of his thinking for him. "Who is he? How do you know him?"

Severus shook his head. "A cousin," he replied, as guardedly as he could under the circumstances. "He said he'd write a letter. I'll relay it to you, when he does."

"I'll think about it," Remus said.

"You'll tell her about it, I hope," said Severus. "I understand they got along quite well."

Remus nodded. "We'll discuss it, yes."

Severus rose. "I must be getting back. If I might use your Floo?"

Remus gave permission with a wave of his hand. "Good night, Severus. And I'm sorry again for reacting as I did."

"Good night, Lupin."

And Severus left in a blaze of green flame. 


	41. Dancing in the Dungeons

**Dancing in the Dungeons**

Severus arrived in his own fireplace and hopped lightly onto the hearth. He checked his clock, and stifled a sigh. It said, "Time to Lighten Up and Behave Like a Loon."

He glared at the clock and snapped, "Tell me the time, you insufferable contraption."

The dial swiveled round, while the letters rearranged themselves, finally swinging back into place at "What would Mordred say?"

"He'd probably point and laugh, come to think of it," said Snape. "But that isn't a time. You're breaking the rules."

The dial swung about again, and Snape wondered, not for the first time, why it had one at all, since there was only one field it ever pointed to. The dial would swing once around the face of the clock while the letters rearranged themselves, stopping dead when they spelled out the proper time.

He supposed it was his brother's sense of humor that had come to the fore, knowing that Severus would never discard anything he gave him, he made sure his gifts were the most insufferable items possible.

Finally, the clock said, "Dead straight, he would. He'd also regret giving me to someone like you."

"The time," demanded Snape. "I need to know the time."

The clock whirred again, ending up at, "Dance, and I'll tell you."

Snape's usual response to this demand of the clock was to storm off and find the time elsewhere. However, his mind being in the fogged state it was, he was rather open to suggestion.

"If that's the only way to get you to work," he said, "I'll just have to, won't I?"

Raising his hands above his head, Snape began to snap rhythmically. "I have to keep this job," he said, beginning to stamp in syncopation. "I have to spy. Have to keep Potter alive."

The clock's dial span to, "If you can read this, Severus, you've finally snapped."

Snape didn't notice, as his stomping and snapping developed into something that could actually be called a dance; consisting of rapid spinning, stomping, and clapping, as his robes billowed about him.

The thoughts swirling through his head became increasingly chaotic. The rational side of him was rearing with distaste, trying to will himself to behave in a sensible manner, while he was actually partly enjoying himself, letting out his pent up frustration. He spared a fleeting thought to be grateful that this sort of thing hadn't happened while in Lupin's company.

Finally, even his rational side gave way to the euphoria. He began to sing the age-old rhyme he'd recited even before being a student at Hogwarts; the one to remember tricky Potions ingredients:

"There's arnica, and asphodel, and bladderwrack and shrivelfig,

And belladonna, wolfsbane (that's aconite), and billywig,

And hellebore, and sneezewort and aconite is monkshood,

And bungleweed, knotgrass, and bupleurum, wormwood,

Lacewing flies, leech juice, ashwinder eggs, and gillyweed,

And dragon horn, aconite, alyhotsy and fluxweed,

And dittany and scurvy grass and lovage and bilberry,

And if you're evil then you use the blood of your worst enemy!"

Snape was lost, purely and completely, in the rhythm. He did not notice the warning crackle of the Wards, nor the turn of the door handle, or the creek as the door was slowly pushed open. He did, however, notice the cry of absolute astonishment, as well as the alarm bell from his Wards.

Potter.

Harry Potter stood in his doorway. Harry Potter with his mouth hanging open. Harry Potter seeing him in such an undignified position.

Snape stood for a second that seemed interminable, frozen in position, hands above his head, breathing hard.

Potter didn't move, shocked into speechless amazement.

Finally the haze in Snape's mind broke and with a shattering clarity his mind returned to normal. Abruptly he crossed to the door, yanked Potter all the way into the room, disabling the Wards that had been about to fry the Boy Wonder to a crisp, and slammed the door.

For a moment neither said anything. Snape glared daggers and Potter stared back in disbelief.

Finally Severus spoke. "Mr. Potter, you have an extremely annoying knack for entering my chambers at inopportune moments."

Harry found his voice to say the only thing possible at the moment. "I'm sorry, Sir."

Snape continued to glare at him.

"I'm really sorry," Harry babbled on. "It's just that you were late for our lesson, and I'd thought you'd forgotten, and I'd already looked at your lab, but you weren't there…"

Severus took a deep breath and let it out in a slow hiss. "If I hadn't realized your presence, my Wards might well have killed you first and asked questions afterwards. You ought to have retreated the moment you touched the door handle and it stung you."

Harry gulped. He had felt a horrible sting, like an electric shock, the moment he'd touched the door, but had been so intent on entering that he'd ignored it. "I'm sorry," he repeated.

"Mr. Potter," grated Snape, "'I'm sorry,' is a useless phrase invented by those too cowardly to face guilt in order to create the illusion of having negated the past. I do not tolerate apologies, nor do I wish them. I simply expect you to learn, and better yourself in the future.

"Merlin Entombed, Boy! You should know better than to enter any door without at least checking it for hexes first, or to think that the first defense you encounter is all that stands between you and entry! When you find it easy to enter, you ought to wonder why! Ought to expect further attack! No Wizard worth his salt will put a solid wall of Wards up- a solid wall is obvious and easy to dismantle. A collection of individual specially triggered Wards is nearly impossible to breach!"

Harry blinked. Whatever Professor Snape it was that had been dancing a moment ago was gone without a trace. He had apparently taken the Professor Snape that had been decent enough to teach Harry along with him, and left behind the fractious Professor Snape who intimidated him in Potions class.

Severus turned abruptly to glare at his clock. It remained at "If you can read this, Severus, you have finally snapped." Harry followed his gaze and sucked in a breath.

"Er…" he stammered, "I'll just… we can meet tomorrow… if you're not… feeling well."

"Myrdin condemn it all!" shouted Snape. "Sit down and stop blathering."

Potter hurriedly seated himself in the nearest chair and dropped his book bag beside him with a thunk. The clock whirred, finally coming to rest at "Time to explain."

"I doubt if I have to tell you what will happen if you mention this," snarled Snape. "I would cast an Obliviate, but it would reverse all the progress we've made in the Mental Arts thus far."

Abruptly, Severus stopped talking as his head snapped backwards as his vision swirled, going green. He swayed on his feet, and his ears rang. Everything went black and he crumpled to the floor.

"Professor!" Harry ran over and turned the man face up. He racked his brains to think of what exactly one was supposed to do when somebody fainted.

He shook the Potion's Professor slightly, but received no response. Completely at a loss as to what to do, Harry decided that facing the wrath of Snape if he brought Madam Pomfrey when she wasn't needed was worth the risk to avoid the wrath of Madam Pomfrey if he didn't call her and Professor Snape was seriously hurt.

Harry scrambled to the door and tried to open it. The same warning crackle assaulted his fingers as he'd felt when trying to get in. Apparently there was a Ward to prevent unauthorized exit as well as entry.

He tried to open the door regardless and found himself flung halfway across the room. He lay on the floor, panting. "Damned if I do," he muttered to himself, "and damned if I don't."

What was it that people did when somebody fainted in a film, he wondered. Got them to bed and loosened tight clothing, or was it slapped their wrists and waved burnt feathers…

Worriedly he looked the Professor over. The man was flushed and seemed to be struggling for breath. Harry unbuttoned the Professor's collar, and loosened it. Snape's head lolled to the side and Harry's eyes widened as he caught sight of a large scar on the back of Snape's neck. An ugly x was centered over his spine.

Unable to stop himself, Harry traced the mark with a finger, wondering what could have caused it. He remembered being in the hut by the sea and Hagrid's booming voice shaking the rafters as he said, "Never wondered how you got that mark on yer forehead? That was no ordinary cut. That's what yeh get when a powerful, evil curse touches yeh."

Harry knew very few Wizards with scars- Alastor Moody and Remus Lupin were the exceptions. He also knew that scars from physical accidents were completely removable, while those caused by magical curses were temperamental and either very difficult or impossible to remove.

Unbidden, another memory took hold of him: He was staring into Snape's Pensieve and watched as Sirius and James taunted Snape, as Snape was flipped upside down, his robes falling over his head. Something he'd realized before suddenly seemed important- Snape's first instinct had not been to right his robes or force himself upright, but to clap a hand over the back of his neck as his hair fell away from it.

"That's why he wears such high collars now," Harry mused. "He was cursed, something so bad that he can't let anybody know…"

Another thought flitted through his head, the absolute anger in Snape's eyes when he'd found Harry looking in the Pensieve. They had glittered in fury, true, but his face had not shown hatred until he began to shout about Harry's father. Before that his reaction had been horror, and _fear, _the terror of being exposed. He had reacted much the same way when Harry noticed that Snape used Wandless Magic.

Suddenly, it all made sense - it would be foolish to believe that Snape would be so sensitive about a schoolboy brawl that he would hide it in his Pensieve when he hadn't removed other, presumably more damaging memories.

It hadn't made sense for Snape, who was a deeply logically-minded and practical man, one who kept his thoughts carefully to himself, to let embarrassment or anger rise to such an extent that he physically shook a student. However, had he thought Harry knew he'd been cursed with something drastic enough to modify his humanity to allow for him to use Wandless Magic…

_Wand. _Harry felt a wave of embarrassment wash over him. Such a simple spell, he'd known for years would have solved the problem. Ennervate! Wizards simply didn't mess about with burnt feathers.

With a renewed sense of purpose he decided he had better pretend he had discovered nothing, and quickly restored the Professor's collar to its original state. It was bad enough that he'd walked in on Snape dancing, as that alone was enough to strain relations such as they were, without him having found out such a closely guarded secret…

As soon as the last tiny button was in place, Harry pulled out his wand, and swished it in the upward twist he'd been taught. "Ennervate!"

The effect was instantaneous. Snape's eyes snapped open, and when he realized the situation, he rocketed to his feet.

Catching the furious look on his face, Harry scrambled to his feet and backed away.

"Thrice damned idiot!" shouted Snape.

Harry winced. "I'm sorry sir, but you fainted, and the Wards…" He trailed off as he realized his Professor wasn't listening.

"'No physical side effects,' indeed," ranted Severus. "The last time I trust anything he brews. I am going to _kill _him. The giddiness I could tolerate. Making a fool of myself, I can take. But, damnit, I shan't accept fainting in front of the Boy who Lived!"

"That explains it," thought Harry. "Some potion didn't agree with him. Probably some experimental brew or other." He watched, bewildered, as the Professor took out a sheaf or parchment, and began hastily scribbling a note. "Are you all right, sir?"

Snape stopped abruptly, and looked intently at him, a peculiar calculating expression on his face. "You say time and time again that you are nothing like your father."

Harry shut his eyes, counted to ten, and opened them again. "Yes, sir."

"Then prove it," said Snape softly. "We will continue the lesson as planned. You will not mention this incident ever again, you will not speak of it, and you will not even allow yourself to _think_ of it. Go back to my classroom and I shall be there in ten minutes. You will not question me."

The boy didn't argue with him, but let out a sigh of relief and nodded curtly. "Yes, sir."

Harry was enormously grateful to whatever providence that had allowed Snape not to be angry enough to break off his lessons.'

Snape raised an eyebrow and jerked his head towards the door. "Leave."

Harry grabbed his book bag and turned to go. Halfway to the door, he stopped with a grimace. "The Wards, sir," he reminded.

With a flick of his wrist Snape sent a wall of purple energy towards the door, before nodding. Harry gingerly touched the door handle and when it did not give him a warning jolt as it had before, returned Snape's nod, twisted it down and left.


	42. A Discussion a Note and a Surprise

**A Discussion, A Note, and a Surprise**

The fire crackled as Snape left, and Remus ran his hands through his hair, clutching at it in frustration. "Down girl," he mentally commanded his Wolf, who subsided, now that the Threat had passed. "Damnit," Remus muttered, rubbing his face. "I hope the man's all right…"

He stared at the book lying in his lap. The faded golden lettering stamped into a black dragon hide cover read: "Concerning the Perils and Pleasures of Legilimency," by Degan R. E. Gemad. Trust Snape to have an illegal book in his pocket, ready for any emergency. Briefly, he wondered just what else Snape might have in his pockets, but dismissed the thought as quickly as it had come.

There was more to Snape than what his pockets contained, after all. The man was obviously in a bad position; he had admitted to being under threat of Poison, and whatever he had taken to counteract the possibility had not left him in a good state.

Remus considered going after him, but knew that his arrival at Hogwarts would merely draw more attention to the man's condition, compromise Order security, and annoy Snape to no end.

"I hope to goodness nobody sees him like that," he muttered, slamming the book onto the table and getting up. "He's the last man we can afford to lose. I certainly couldn't."

Instantly, he regretted such a selfish train of thought. Severus had gone quite out of his way to help Remus, had risked being seen in a giddy stupor that would have destroyed his reputation. He was, Remus thought soberly, risking quite a lot – and for what?

With a gnawing sense of unease, Remus wondered for the thousandth time for what purpose Snape had demanded his oath. A future favor could be anything, and Remus was afraid that when payment was demanded it wouldn't be something he would enjoy giving.

With a sigh, Remus rose to his feet and steeled himself for a difficult conversation. He climbed the ladder and rapped on Philomena's trap door.

A bit of muffled shuffling later, the door was swung open, allowing Remus to pull himself up, and knock the door back into place. For a moment father and daughter stood facing each other silently.

Philomena watched Remus with an odd look of expectation on her face, apparently realizing that he was looking for the right words, and gave him time.

Finally Remus blurted, "I'm sorry."

Philomena smiled lightly. "You've no need to be."

Trying to break the tension she hopped onto the bed, causing it to squeak and settled herself. Waiving a hand towards the rocking chair she said, "Was it the Moon?"

Shakily, Remus nodded, seating himself and beginning to rock gently, his eyes closed. "Yes," he admitted. "The Wolf seems to be breaking free from the bonds of the Potion."

"I could see it in your eyes," she nodded. "Not that they looked any different physically," she hastened to reassure him, "but I could tell it wasn't _you _behind them."

"She's been getting loose occasionally," Remus admitted. "I'm sorry."

"It's not your-"

"Yes it is my fault," Remus countered. "It is my disease, and it is up to me to control the effects it has on myself and others. I asked Severus for help because my control is slipping, and losing my control could kill, or even worse."

She shook her head, obviously not agreeing with him, but not wanting to argue.

"The Wolf takes over when She feels threatened," Remus explained, "but I want you to understand that no matter what happens you are safe with me. She loves you as much as I do, and She will do everything to protect you, as will I. If… If something should happen, if I should lose control, promise me not to lose your head."

She took a deep breath. "I do not know if I can," she replied, "but for what it is worth, I promise to try."

Remus took a deep breath. "Severus gave me a book," he explained, "and I hope that with it's help I can alleviate the problem."

"Is he all right?" Philomena asked uncomfortably, casting about for a safer topic.

"I hope so," said Remus worriedly. "He'd rather die than ask for help, you know, but of all of us, we need him the most. The man does so much, takes so many risks, and none of the others seem to care or realize. They treat him abominably."

"They treat _you_ abominably," she pointed out. "That Vance woman…"

"'That Vance Woman,'" replied Remus, "is decent, really. She is a Pure Blood, the only child of a family of high standing. She was brought up with certain things expected of her and she lived up to those expectations. She married after the wishes of her family but unlike the majority of Purebloods she made her husband happy, and became happy herself. He was killed in the first War. She sees it as her duty to avenge him.

"She realizes that Voldemort is a madman, that his ways are evil, his ideas fanatical. But she also thinks the way she has always thought. She is a proud woman, still holds her prejudice without even realizing it. We aren't all perfect."

There was a silence. Remus took a deep breath and shook his head. "But that wasn't what I wanted to talk about," he said. "We haven't… discussed much, and something Snape said reminded me of just how little I've been seeing to what you need."

Philomena smiled wryly. "You've seen to me more than anybody else has," she pointed out. "You've cured me, given me freedom. I can't complain."

"You are eighteen," Remus said. "Of age in the Muggle World, but not in ours for another four years. You must have realized now that I can't provide much for you… I want you to have every opportunity, and I am not your best prospect."

Philomena sat up quickly. "Are you saying you want me to go?" she asked. "I can understand. I know you must be used to living alone, and that you haven't a lot. I don't want to be a burden. I could help I was educated in the Muggle world, and can find employment with little trouble…"

"No," cried Remus in distress, "you've misunderstood. It's true that I was alone for a long time and living with another person has been disconcerting at times, but you've given me a reason to enjoy life again. You've given me a purpose. I simply wanted you to know that, while you are always welcome in my heart and my home, that you should not be afraid to ask for more than I can offer."

Philomena blinked. "I don't understand."

Remus rubbed his temples. "You should have so much more," he said. "Starting with education. I could get you into a good Magical University, with contacts I have. I intended to discuss enrolling you when you were ready if you wished…

"However, Severus informs me that you've an uncle who's his cousin through some bizarre twist of fate -"

"Uncle Igor!" she cried. "I _knew _it wasn't a coincidence Snape looked so familiar! I've wanted to contact him, but International Owls are so hard to arrange and…"

She trailed off, offering a small smile as apology for interrupting, then gestured for him to continue.

It took a moment for Remus to collect his thoughts and steel himself to go on. Moony was protesting, but he pushed her ruthlessly aside.

"Snape said that the man was willing to take you in," he said quietly. "He indicated the man was fairly wealthy and that you two got along."

Philomena didn't answer, Remus tried not to meet her eye. He knew he couldn't offer her much, and while he hoped she would choose to stay with him, he couldn't find it in himself to keep her from a better life. Was there really any reason for her to want to stay?

"While I love you, and I don't want you to leave," he went on clumsily, "I still want you to know that … I won't stand between you and an opportunity like this… If that is what you want."

His daughter slumped back onto her pillows, at a loss for words.

"It's not an immediate issue," soothed Remus. "And I'm not sure what your Uncle is offering precisely. Severus said the man would owl. Igor, you said?"

She nodded. "We were there for only a few weeks - there was some argument over an inheritance and Ralf didn't want to leave me behind in England. Uncle Igor… he was the first one that noticed I wasn't what I was pretending to be. The only one who offered to help, though he couldn't, because Ralf noticed and hid me away from him."

"I know it doesn't help now, Philomena," Remus said, "but if I'd known, nothing in the world could have stopped me from taking you from Ralf."

"I know," she said simply. "And it wasn't your fault. Please, let's not talk about Ralf, or any of it. I don't want to think about that."

Remus nodded. "It will be all right, my Heart," he said. "We can decide things later."

XXX

As soon as Harry was safely out of the way, Snape gave a growl and turned back to the piece of parchment he'd been writing on. When his vision began to blur again, he sank into a chair putting his head in his hands. Gradually it cleared once more. He quickly grabbed the parchment to finish scribbling the note:

_"Master of the Greatest of Arts, _

_Your potion seems to have side effects you know not of. The subject, upon coming out of the euphoric haze, has begun to experience fainting spells. Kindly send original formula post haste that I might find something to counter this effect. The subject is in great distress and cannot afford to be laid low at this time. _

_Professor Snape."_

He folded it once, twice, and sealed it with a daub of Selsna's Self-Melting Sealing Wax, in his haste neglecting his usual privacy charm.

He then rose and fought another wave of dizziness before heading off towards the Owlery.

XXX

In his shop, Igor read Snape's note, blanched, and swore violently in Bulgarian.

"What's the matter?" inquired Malfoy, arching an eyebrow.

"Och," replied Karkaroff with forced carelessness, letting the note flutter to his worktable, "a colleague o' mine, havin' a bit o' trouble."

Lucius surreptitiously read the note. "Snape," he thought, "excellent." Aloud, he asked, "You work with him often?"

Igor waved a careless hand. "Na, na," he said. "He's a might bit o' a flashy brewer. Lot's o' style, not much substance. If ya know what Ah mean."

Malfoy smirked maliciously. If there was something he enjoyed immensely, it was watching friends destroy each other unknowingly.

"How long must this slime burble before I can have it?" asked Malfoy.

"Patience, Mr. Malfoy," chided Karkaroff, grabbing several small vials from the shelves. "Tha' 'slime' is an art. The Greatest of Arts, and naught else'll poison a Master."

Lucius twitched impatiently. "I want it soon. I _require _it soon."

Karkaroff turned and stared at him, well aware of the eerie effect this produced as his eyes shone through his mask. "Tha'll have 't6 on time," he said, his voice carefully quiet, "when 'tis ready, or tha'll not have't at all."

Lucius took an involuntary step back. "You've already my bonded Wizard's Oath I'll not harm you," he snapped. "What more do you want?"

Karkaroff continued to stare at Malfoy, eyes glittering with malice. "Ah want nothin', Mr. Malfoy," he hissed. "Tha wants poison, and if tha wants to have't, tha must abide by ma rules."

Malfoy grimaced in distaste. "You're not the only Potions Master on earth," he said. "I'm paying you well enough."

Igor smirked behind his mask, quickly packing the vials he'd collected into his black leather carrying case. "Aye," he agreed, turning back to face Lucius, "but Ah be the only one wha' will help the likes of ye."

With that, he Disapparated with a crack.

Lucius cursed loudly in French. "How the devil did he get round the Disapparition Wards? There's no way to make them selective..."

He carefully hid his face with his hood before leaving the shop and entering the shadows of Knockturn Alley. Behind him the shop automatically shut and locked itself with a clang, as Malfoy lost himself in the crowd.

XXX

Harry Potter checked his watch. "'Ten minutes,' he says," he grumbled to himself. "It's been half an hour."

With a sigh, he went back to practicing. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breath in.

"Occlumence," he chanted mentally. "Noli sententiam cogitationemque a me rapere."

Grimacing, he tried not to shy away from the Magic invading his brain. He had to trust the Magic, had to work hard not to instinctively push it back out of his consciousness. If Snape was going to be late, he might as well practice before a direct confrontation.

Ever so carefully he made sure his defenses were still in place, reweaving those parts that had frayed. As he went along the process sped up slightly. He let himself be guided by the magic, stowing memories and thoughts beneath his defenses and allowing a precious few to remain available to misdirect an attacker.

"Noli sententiam cogitationemque a me rapere."

XXX

Igor stumbled into the back door of Florean Fortescue's. He quickly sloughed off his robe and mask, stuffing them into a nearby cupboard. Turning he tripped over something in the semidarkness.

"Florean!" he called softly.

A bump and a muffled curse sounded from upstairs. Igor winced. "Bendis," he muttered, casting an eye about for some source of light. "How do I manage to get myself into such situations?"

Locating an oil lamp, he lit it using a flame from the tip of his wand, and was just blinking to get used to the light when Fortescue entered the room, rubbing his eyes.

"Florean," said Igor quickly, "no time to explain. I need your help. A disguise, as good as they come."

"Does the mask no longer work?" asked Florean concernedly, setting a candelabrum on a side table. "Have you lost it?"

"I've got it, dash it," snapped Igor, "but it wouldn't do to have two sightings of masked men at Hogwarts in less than two days, now, would it?"

"Calm down my friend," said Florean sinking into a comphy chair and motioning vaguely to Igor to take another. "Never be in a hurry. It wastes time. Explain."

"I need to see Severus," said Igor without preamble. "He's taken something and it hasn't agreed with him for some reason. I suppose his blood balance must be off - he could be seriously hurt if I can't figure it out and bring his balance back to norm. I was in the castle quite recently, and while _one _student telling tales of a tall masked man might be dismissed, more than that won't."

"Enough," said Florean. "A simple glamour ought to do… nobody suspects a man visiting the Potions Master the day before All Hallow's Eve."

"Quickly, man," demanded Igor impatiently, "I trust he's had the sense to retreat to his rooms, but if somebody saw him in this condition and asked questions…"

"Not to worry," soothed Florean, drawing his wand. "Hold still. Instate Glamorem!"

A swirling fog enveloped Igor. He emerged from it coughing, and completely unrecognizable.

"Take care of Severus," said Florean. "I'll never forgive you if…"

"It'll be all right," said Igor, running a hand through his now reddish brown hair. "I am greatly in your debt."

Igor left the shop and Disapparated with a muffled crack.

XXX

Severus' knuckles were white as he gripped the banister. The stairway lurched wildly, finally clicking into place. Stumbling off onto the landing, Severus shook his head to clear it, and continued on his way back to the classroom.

Halfway there, he realized it was impossible. He was going to pass out again and would not give Potter the satisfaction of seeing him that way twice nor could he risk collapsing in the hall. Potter's discretion was a calculated risk, but the portraits could not be trusted. He needed to get to his rooms.

At a careful pace, he made his way through the corridors on the fastest route to his quarters, not allowing the merest wobble to betray his giddiness to the portraits lining the walls.

Arriving at his rooms, he wrenched his doors open, bypassing the wards with a muttered password he only used only at times like these when he couldn't stop to take them down properly. He kept up his façade until the door was firmly slammed behind him, taking only a second to make sure the Wards were still in place. Finally giving in, he slumped bonelessly to the floor.

XXX

Igor Karkaroff tried to ignore the strangeness of being without his mask and heavy outer robes, and the strange feel of fine curly hair brushing his cheeks, and concentrated on getting to Hogwarts as quickly as possible.

Apparating into the very edge of the grounds, he slipped quickly past the lake, then quietly in by one of the lesser-known entrances. "The secret of being allowed to pass," he mentally recited, "is to pretend you belong."

Looking for all the world like an annoyed Board Member or Parent on the way to have a 'little chat' with the Headmaster, he stormed through the hallways, holding his lit wand before him with seaming carelessness. He was grateful for the late hour which insured that he met nobody; he'd been warned several times that people were not the only ones who saw and told tales.

"Office first," he told himself, "closest."

But Severus' office was empty, so he pressed on.

"His Classroom," he thought to himself, "unlikely, but possible. And I shall need to pick up a flask or two there…"

In a swirl of robes, he charged through the passages with the confidence he had tried so hard to hide during the Tournament. Far be it from him to reveal how often he had visited his cousin.

Reaching the classroom, he saw the faint glimmer of light beneath the door, brighter by far than that of his own wand.

He wrenched the door open, expecting to see his cousin. "Are you all right?" he began to ask, in Bulgarian.

The words died on his lips.

Before him, sitting cross-legged on Severus' desk, was a very startled Harry Potter.


	43. Medical Magic

**Medical Magic**

Dumbledore abruptly slammed the Encyclopedia of Mesopotamian Mages shut and frowned in consternation as one of the many intricate silver instruments on his desk began to emit red smoke rings.

The Personalis Monitor, keyed to Severus Snape's health and prosperity, was quite a neat little tool that emitted different signals for different stages of wellbeing. At the moment it was indicating a medical emergency.

Swiveling around in his chair to face the fireplace, Dumbledore took out his wand and aimed it at the mirror on the mantle.

"Activare."

Fawkes let out a mournful trill.

"He knew somebody was watching," Dumbledore told the bird, "and I wasn't going to use it again… but his life is in peril."

The reflection of his office swirled counterclockwise in the mirror until it became a blur and then slowly swirled back, becoming the image of Severus' quarters.

Severus lay slumped by his door in a crumpled heap of robes.

Albus let out a slow hiss. Fawkes left his perch, flew to the arm of the Wizard's chair, and peered at the image.

"He's still breathing," Dumbledore said. "Thank Merlin."

Albus thought rapidly. Snape refused categorically to be treated by Poppy, insisting when he did need care on going to his own private Healer, claiming that a particular condition of his required a Specialist.

Snape had, in his usual paranoid way, refused to discuss it despite Poppy's assurance that she was quite qualified to take care of anything he could possibly have. At Albus' insistence, he had prepared a way for the Healer to be summoned in case of emergency.

The Headmaster remembered quite well how _that _request had been received. After a great deal of shouting, Severus had locked himself in his quarters for several hours, during which time the Wards showed tremendous Floo activity. He had returned with a long thin ivory box, complete with a list of terse instructions on the use thereof.

In vain the Mediwitch and the Headmaster had pleaded that it would be far easier and safer to simply inform them of his condition, or at the very least give them the Healer's name so he could be summoned by more conventional methods. Severus had put his foot down, claiming that his medical information was by law nobody's business but his own.

Dumbledore had eventually, resignedly, accepted the box, and given his Oath not to use it unless Snape were both unconscious and in serious danger. Hoping against hope that he would never need it, he had stashed it away. Now, however, Severus was both in need of medical attention, and unconscious. It was time.

With a sudden energy Dumbledore leapt to his feet, dislodging Fawkes who fwumped to the desk with a disgruntled squawk.

Crossing the room, Dumbledore pushed a large hourglass and a bottle of Ogden's Old out of the way, reached into the recess of the shelf, and finally pulled out the ivory box.

He set it carefully upon his desk and slid the lid open. Taking a pinch of the dark powder it contained with the fingers of one hand, his wand in the other, he tossed the powder into the air, hitting it with the spell engraved on the lid before it could dissipate.

"Adveniat!"

A beam of golden light erupted from his wand. The powder collected itself in midair, forming a solid core, as the shaft of golden light coalesced into a ball of fire around it.

Albus took an involuntary step backwards as the ball crackled with intense energy. It flared into an enormous pulse of flame before zooming from the room through the window. The glass shattered, and scattered to the floor, in a cascade of glittering light.

"Let's hope to Merlin that works," said Dumbledore, casting a Reparo charm on the window. "Fawkes… do what you can."

Fawkes trilled once, and disappeared.

XXX

Harry Potter stared at the man who had just walked in. "What did you say?" he asked.

Igor Karkaroff stepped in and shut the door behind him with a snap. Here was a dilemma he'd not anticipated. Of all the people to run into while looking for his cousin, the Boy Who Lived was the most problematic save perhaps the Dark Lord, or Dumbledore.

Igor blinked and decided he would brave-face his way through this matter just as done with much more dangerous situations. Carefully not sparing the boy a glance, he brushed passed him and headed for the Supply Cabinet.

"Excuse me."

Harry followed the man across the room with his eyes. He wasn't a teacher, or even one of the Board Members who occasionally visited the school on inspections and the like.

"I beg your pardon," came Potter's voice from behind him, "but the cabinet's warded to give you nasty stings if you take anything from it outside school hours."

Igor turned and glared at the boy, who didn't look particularly fazed. Perhaps his eyes weren't as intimidating in this new face as they were glittering behind Fortescue's mask, or perhaps he was simply used to the far more intense glares of his Potions Master.

"I am looking for Professor Snape," said Igor silkily.

Harry took a deep breath. "He's not available at the moment, sir."

"He said he would be here to see me," lied Igor.

"But he's not," Harry pointed out. "Are you sure you've come a the right time? It is a bit late…"

"Yes," Igor said, rounding on the boy, "quite late. Ten o'clock. Past curfew."

Potter shrugged. "I have been given special permission," he lied.

"I have no way of knowing that," countered Igor. "But I have no time to waste on trivial matters."

He swept from the room and stifled a sigh when he heard the boy following him.

"You'll pardon me," said Harry, catching up with the man and lying through is teeth, "but you see the corridor you're heading towards is off limits to those not in the student body or the faculty."

"I doubt that shall cause me much trouble," said the stranger unperturbed. "I am expected."

"In the wrong room apparently," Potter pointed out, "and in the wrong potions cabinet."

"Mr. Potter," hissed Igor, whirling to face the boy, "you are in the wrong place, at the wrong time, speaking to the wrong person."

Harry bit his lip. He had done it again, recklessly getting himself into something he knew nothing about.

"I'm sorry, sir," he mumbled, backing up slightly.

With a flash of apprehension, Igor realized that he could not afford to leave a suspicious Boy Who Lived in a corridor. There was no knowing what he would might say, or to whom, and if Snape was in the state Igor suspected, it wouldn't do to have others getting in the way.

"Too late, Mr. Potter," he hissed, grabbing the boy by the collar of his robes. "In for a penny, in for a pound. You will come with me."

"I will not," protested Harry, reaching for his wand.

Igor, however, had his wand out already, and quickly held it to Harry's throat. "You will," he repeated. "And quietly."

Harry wrenched the stranger's wand away from his neck and scrambled away.

"You _will,_" repeated the man again, "or Professor Snape will die."

After a split second of indecision, the boy's shoulders slumped in compliance.

"Quickly," insisted the stranger, grabbing him roughly by the arm and propelling him forward. "March."

Harry obeyed. With a growing sense of guilt he realized that not only was he probably in quite a bit of trouble, but Snape was going to be very angry with him. He had gone and shown the same recklessness he'd promised he would avoid at all costs.

He ought to have retreated at once and gone for help, point-loss for being out after curfew had been a stupid thing to worry about. Worse yet, the stranger seemed to know precisely where Snape's quarters were located, and was heading there with quick, sure steps. If he knew this and had the appointment he claimed, why had he come to the classroom first?

Harry decided he had two choices, either to bolt for help and hope he could get it before the man carried out his threat, or stay and hope the wards made short work of the stranger. Gritting his teeth, he decided that while running to alert the staff was the more active choice, it was far more likely to end in disaster, especially as the man would be presented with Harry's retreating back as an excellent target. Better by far to wait until the wards distracted the man…

XXX

Dumbledore paced his office. Above all he hated feeling helpless, and he could do nothing, as he was bound by his promise not to assist Severus himself or send any Healer other than Severus' own.

Fawkes was not a Healer, a fact Albus had conveniently overlooked when he had given his Oath. It was a loophole that had given him some comfort up to now.

He chanced another glance at the mirror. Fawkes was still crying over Severus, and Severus was still not moving.

Albus itched to do _something._ To call for Poppy, St. Mungo's to run down and at least make sure the man was still breathing, but he had promised, and he kept his Word.

Suddenly, he broke off his pacing and stared at the mirror. Severus' Floo had flared up and a young man tumbled out onto the Hearth.

The man shouted something and ran to Severus' side, rolling the unconscious man onto his back to check his pulse.

Albus let out a sigh of relief. Help had arrived.

XXX

As they reached Snape's door, the stranger's grip on his arm did not lessen. Without breaking his stride, the man cast several spells in quick succession, then confidently grabbed the handle, and pulled the door open.

Harry gasped, dragging into the room. For the second time that evening, he was treated to the sight of an unconscious Snape, this time being fought over by a flustered young man and an agitated Phoenix.

"Who in the name of the nine Hells are you?" roared Igor.

"The man's personal Healer," snapped the other man, who could not have been older than twenty. "He's got a blood imbalance that - "

"I know," replied Igor, sinking to his knees beside him. "I'm afraid I've poisoned him. Here. I've brought…"

Harry stared at the scene before his eyes disbelievingly. Severus lay on the floor, his hair spread about his face like a fan, limbs splayed. Kneeling beside him was the first man, who looked like a cross between a much older Ron and a hawk, and the second, who resembled Snape, but far better looking, getting out a series of metal pieces and cable, beginning to fit them together frantically. Fawkes shrieking and diving at both men, in a furious flurry of red plumage.

The Healer ducked to avoid Fawkes newest onslaught and shouted, "Get rid of that bloody songbird!"

Suddenly, the scene simplified itself dramatically in Harry's eyes; Snape was lying helpless on the floor, one man had admitted to poisoning him, the other claimed to be his Healer, and Fawkes didn't like either of them.

Harry realized abruptly what to do. "Fawkes," he shouted, "Go back to Dumbledore!"

Fawkes swirled in midair, let out a trill and disappeared.

"First decent thing you've done in your life, Potter," snapped Igor. "And pray shut that door before some idiot decides to pass by."

Harry pulled the door shut, and hoped to Merlin that Fawkes had understood and was going to get Dumbledore.

The Healer, free of distractions, had finally managed to set up a complicated series of small silver gadgets, attached to each other by electric cables.

"Give me a hand here, boy," he said. "Get on his other side."

Harry dropped his bag of books to the floor and joined the supposed Healer.

"What is that?"

"A Diatragnostic P. N.," said the Healer, as though that were obvious, getting out a roll of thin black tape.

"Couldn't you just use a spell?" asked Igor. "We haven't much time."

"You've admitted to poisoning him," snapped the Healer. "Pardon me if I don't care much for your advice. Get out of the way."

Practically shoving the man aside, the Healer grabbed Snape's right wrist, unbuttoned the sleeve, and rolled it up. Setting a small metal disk on the pulse point, he taped it firmly in place.

"You," he said, activating and shoving one of the gleaming silver devices towards Harry, "watch that node, and tell me if it gives a reading."

Harry stared at the machine in his hands. It looked like a cross between an alarm clock and an engine. It was a mess of unrecognizable gleaming metal parts, squeaking and churning, topped with an LCD screen, blinking zeros.

"Yes, sir."

The Healer set the two other devices, and seemed satisfied with whatever it was they told him, before rounding on Igor.

"All right, out with it, who are you and what have you done to him?"

Igor held up his hands in defense. "It was an Antidote," he protested.

"Antidote," repeated the Healer with a dangerous glint in his eye. "What has he been poisoned with?"

"Nothing yet," explained Igor, "it was a preventative measure. It wasn't supposed to have this affect. I had no idea his blood had altered since my last reading."

"You've no business giving him readings," snapped the Healer, pulling out a number of items from the black bag he'd brought with him, causing the others to stare nonplussed.

"And you've no business treating him," countered Igor. "Who authorized you?"

"Russ himself," replied the Healer, rummaging through his pockets, "he told me you were a suspicious lot. Here."

Finding what he was looking for, the young man handed Igor slightly squashed scroll.

Not one to take chances, Igor cast a Detection Charm to be sure the object wasn't a trap, before unsealing it. He skimmed the note, nodded curtly, and handed it back.

"It is well," he said. "You may proceed."

"It's a bit late to allow him to proceed," Harry pointed out, looking up from the screen. "He could have killed the Professor ten times over already. And while you may be satisfied, I'm afraid I still don't know either of you from Adam. For all I know, you could both be trying to kill him."

With a roll of his eyes the Healer passed the note to Harry, who glanced at it. There, in handwriting he recognized from dozens of scathing commentaries on admittedly average work, was Severus' looping scrawl:

_To Whom It May Concern:_

_It is my business whom I choose for my Healer. If you hinder this man, I shall very likely die, in which case I shall never forgive you._

_Sincerely,_

_Severus Snape._

Potter blinked twice, couldn't think of a thing to say, and handed the scroll back. Frankly, he was as confused as he could ever remember being, save for the time he'd first found out about his Wizarding blood and he was at a complete loss as to what to do.

Abruptly, one of the devices began to emit piecing high-pitched beeps. The Healer scrambled into action, pulling out several objects from his pack. One in particular caused Harry's eyes to widen in surprise, and Karkaroff's to narrow in doubt.

Gleaming in the dim light was a hypodermic syringe.

The Healer gave neither of them time to think, rapidly preparing his equipment, until the sinister needle was ready, grabbing Severus' left arm, and rolling up the sleeve. He stopped and hissed abruptly, running a finger along the scar that ran from the Dark Mark to his wrist.

"No wonder he's anemic," he said, "I'll kill him for this once I've got him healthy again."

"Wouldn't that defeat the purpose?" asked Karkaroff, trying to sound unperturbed. "I've got a blood replenishing draught with me, it'd be easier. I wasn't sure what had caused the imbalance, so I brought something for each conceivable circumstance so that I could use some diagnostic Spells as soon as I arrived…"

"Keep your New Age rubbish to yourself," snapped the Healer, fussing about to find a vein. "He can douse himself with whatever he likes, but not when I'm here. Asphodel… Wormwood… complete tosh. No wonder he gets into these situations."

Taking a pause from his rant to insert the needle and carefully inject. Harry winced, feeling the violent urge to knock the needle out of the man's hand.

"I told him years ago!" continued the Healer. "'Stay away from that alternate healing tripe. If you keep it up don't come crying home to _me _when you're lying unconscious in somebody's dungeon.' Did he listen? No! And just LOOK what happened!"

Igor coughed. "What've you injected him with?"

"Bit late to be asking that now," returned Harry, his voice a trifle high.

The boy had never taken well to the sight of needles and blood, and had thought that after several years of being in the Infirmary without seeing one, that Wizards simply didn't use them.

"Precisely," snapped the Healer, putting a plaster over the wound. "You. Boy. Run get some water. Cold."

Harry jumped up, thinking he could both get the water and see what on earth was keeping Fawkes from fetching Dumbledore, but got no further than the door; the moment he touched the handle he was thrown back, and barely kept his feet.

"Oh Bendis," cursed Igor, jumping to his feet. "I should have known he didn't only have Wards preventing entry…"

The Healer looked up sharply. "Bendis? You don't just so happen to be an expatriated Bulgarian New Age Witch, too?"

Igor drew himself up to his full height. "I am a _Wizard_," he hissed. "And, yes, Bulgarian. Though what you mean by new age is beyond me. I'm over thirty five."

The Healer shook his head. "I still need water," he pointed out, "regardless of whether you can open the door or not."

Igor drew his wand and conjured a pitcher of water and a glass, and set it down by the Healer.

"Took you long enough," snapped the Healer. "Handkerchief?"

Harry pulled his out, thankful that it was clean, and handed it over. "Stat."

"Stat? _Stat?_" replied the Healer, dipping the handkerchief in water and wringing it out. "I'm sure you have _no _idea what it means. Just saw it in some crazy medical soap opera. It means 'at once', _I _say it, _you _respond by doing it _at once._"

"Medical soap opera," repeated Harry, watching the man dab Professor Snape's forehead. "You aren't a Wizard, are you?"

"Wizard?" repeated the Healer. "Sweet Lord, no. He'll need a jolt. He's not coming to."

"A jolt?" repeated Igor. "Now look here. I'm not going to stand idly by and-"

"Then don't," snapped the Healer. "Give me your hand, lets see if you're compatible."

"It would help if you explained," replied Igor.

"Damnit man, I can't explain," snapped the Healer. "It would take hours- days, considering the fact that you probably never heard of a blood transfusion, much less an Essence… I need you to give him some of your… Energy. Power. Magic. Whatever it is you call it."

"That's impossible!" protested Igor. "By all the laws of Metaphysics!"

"Not by the laws of physics and electrical engineering," returned the Healer.

"Wait," interrupted Harry. "You're talking about something like a blood transfusion, but with Magic, yes?"

"Right," answered the Healer. "But if I can't get him a jolt of it quickly, there shan't be much point."

Gryffindor impulse took over and Harry held out his wrist.

"If I'm compatible."

"There's only a small possibility otherwise," said the Healer, grabbing Harry's hand and pushing up the sleeve, then taping the same type of disk to it as he had to Severus. "It shan't hurt much and there's no chance of draining you."

Attaching the disk with a cable to one of the nearby gadgets, he pressed several buttons and seemed satisfied with the "PoSalFi" that blinked in the screen.

"You'll do. Lie down, by his arm…"

Harry complied, thinking that this was perhaps the stupidest thing he had ever done in his life.

The Healer fussed, attaching Harry's disk by one cable to Severus' disk, and with another, to one of the meaner looking devices he hadn't yet used.

"I'll set it on two for now. If that doesn't work, we'll go higher. Ready?"

Harry nodded. "Right, then."

The Healer slammed down a switch, and with a crackle, Harry felt something shoot down his arm. He cried out in surprise. Blue flames shot down the wires into Severus' disk, and a jolt passed through the Professor before he fell limp once more.

"Level three," announced the Healer. "Ready?"

Without waiting for an answer the Healer pressed the switch again. The blue fire shot down Harry's arm again, this time almost painful in intensity. The sparks shot towards Severus, who once again jolted violently, before lying limp once more.

Panting, Harry lifted his head slightly to watch as the Healer concernedly fussed over Severus, checking his pulse, and then each of the gadgets in turn.

"Is it … electricity?" he asked.

The Healer shrugged. "Might as well be considering the way it behaves. I'll have to set it at five… this will hurt. Ready?"

"All right," replied Harry, falling back and screwing his eyes shut.

Igor watched in frank uncertainty and not a little fear as the machine was activated for the third time. Potter's back arched as the blue _whatever-it-was _sizzled down his arm, crackled over the wires, and stabbed into Severus. Severus jolted, let out a strangled cry, then weakly tried to sit up.

"It's all right, Uncle Russ," said the Healer, arresting the other man's motion and settling Severus back down. "It's me. Now lie still."

"Uncle Russ?" repeated Igor in a shout. "Who in the name of Merlin _are _you?"

Snape blinked blearily as a strange face swam into view, wearing Igor's Aura. Suddenly Snape realized just what he'd been missing – that mask, that work of art, couldn't have been done by Igor. Not the way it hid everything, while not obstructing the sight or speech of the wearer.

"Cousin?" he asked. "You got my note, I hope?"

"Yes," replied Igor testily. "But this young idiot got in the way of my doing you any good."

"Don't try and talk now," said the Healer, busying himself. "You've lost plenty of Energy, and while I've transferred quite a bit, I couldn't risk raising the-"

"From whom?" Severus asked wildly. "Who's Magic have you-"

Harry coughed.

Severus turned and saw Harry Potter.

"I'm sorry," Harry blurted. "I didn't… I mean, I…"

"He means," interrupted the Healer, "that he's saved your life."

Snape shut his eyes as though to shut them all out.

"You were in very bad condition," the Healer went on. "It was lucky the boy was here at all. I couldn't have done it without a donor. You know I can't-"

Snape took a deep breath and turned to Harry, staring at him with an indecipherable expression.

"Mr. Potter," he said slowly, "why are you here at all? I told you to wait."

"It's eleven o'clock, sir," Harry explained quickly. "I waited for you and when you didn't come, I took the time to practice, but then he arrived, and said he wanted to see you, and then that you'd die and…"

"Your Gryffindor nature naturally took charge," finished Snape.

"I'm sorry, Cousin," said Igor. "I had no idea… the Potion must have been too large a dosage, I had no idea your balance would have gone so far from the norm since my last reading."

The Healer untaped the disks from both Harry and Snape and began to pack his equipment.

"Your condition is now stable, Uncle Russ," he said. "You'll need plenty of sleep, take it easy, and for heaven's sake, don't go drinking herbal remedies without knowing what they are."

"Why is your healer calling you his uncle?" asked Igor in confusion.

"You've got a niece you never told me about," said Snape tiredly. "I trust I'm permitted to have a few relations."

"But you're an only child!" protested Igor.

"So were you," Snape pointed out.

Just then the Floo flared to life, and Albus' head popped into the fireplace. "All right there, Severus, my boy?" he asked. "You gave me a bit of a scare. Why don't the lot of you pop up to my office, have a nightcap, and talk this over?"


	44. Cycle of Debt

**Cycle of Debt**

On the way to Dumbledore's office Harry wondered how much trouble he was in. He could think of several rules he'd broken, none of which he could explain in any way Dumbledore would approve of.

To begin with he was out after curfew. The Headmaster had overlooked that before, but only when Harry had the excuse of Occlumency, or battling Voldemort. Harry wasn't supposed to be learning anything with Snape at all outside of the scheduled Occlumency sessions and Voldemort hadn't attacked, so Harry had no legitimate excuse.

Secondly he had acted recklessly, had broken into a Professor's private room. One could possibly say he'd endangered his Professor's life.

Lastly, there was the possibility that Dumbledore would find out about his illicit lessons, and there was no way he could excuse himself of that charge. All in all, Harry thought he'd be lucky if he managed to get off with only a month's worth of detention. He morosely followed the Snape, the Healer, and the stranger a few paces behind giving half an ear to their conversation.

"- an injection of Plenirserum," the Healer was explaining, "but that wasn't enough. You were still in critical condition. So I had to give you a Jolt. This fellow was singularly unhelpful, so I used the boy."

"I _say _now," protested Igor, "you hadn't explained _at all _what you were doing! How was I supposed to-"

"Do shut it," snapped the Healer. "Jolt of level five did it."

"Level five?" repeated Snape. "Are you mad? We've never tested that conclusively on a human donor!"

"Well, there wasn't exactly a generator or a wall socket in sight, was there?" said the Healer. "You insist on living in a bloody medieval castle!"

"Mordred," said Igor suddenly.

"Beg pardon," said the Healer, "but that was quite a non sequitur."

"Your brother Mordred," Igor repeated. "I'd always thought your parents had made him up to justify not instating you as heir since they didn't want to disinherit you outright, or to …"

Harry Potter used his head for the first time that day and cast a Privacy Bubble about the four of them. Snape shot him his usual cool calculating look before giving a curt nod, and returning his attention to his cousin.

"Mordred existed, yes," answered Snape heavily. "A Squib, though they would never admit as much. I helped him escape from the Manor early on, and he disappeared into the Muggle World."

"Which would explain why your nephew is…" started Igor.

"Perfectly normal," finished the Healer.

"Muggle," supplied Snape.

"Ah," said Igor. "We're even then. I had a niece I didn't tell you about, and you have a nephew…"

"I knew there was a reason our family didn't have grand reunions," drawled the Healer, "but Uncle Russ is still ahead of you. I've a brother."

"Damnit, Severus," cried Igor in exasperation. "_Two?_"

"Well it's not _my _fault," returned Snape. "I'd tell you to take it up with Mordred, but he's passed on."

"I'm sorry," murmured Harry quietly.

The three turned back giving him odd looks before returning to their conversation. Harry shrugged and concentrated on keeping the Bubble moving with them.

"He's your cousin I presume," said the Healer. "Which would make him my…"

"First cousin, once removed" answered Snape. "You really ought to have been introduced earlier. Mr. Hubert Snape, meet Mr. Igor Karkaroff."

"Charmed," the two said together, obviously not charmed at all.

"Igor _Karkaroff?_" repeated Harry. "But he's _dead._"

Again the party stopped, and whirled to look at Harry with identical condescending expressions.

"Well," said Igor airily, looking at his fingernails, "if you believe everything the Dark Lord tells you…"

"Ah," said Harry. "You've changed."

"Glamour," said Snape and Igor together.

"I see," said Harry.

The party continued on its way.

Igor abruptly began to snicker. The others looked askance at him. "_Hubert?"_ he finally choked out between his laughter. "What sort of a name is-"

"Damnit," Hubert snarled. "If your mother's name was Genevieve, and your father's name was Mordred, you'd have an immensely stupid name, too."

"It's not immensely stupid," protested Snape, "it's traditional. There have been a great many heroic Huberts."

"At least I've a better name than my brother," huffed Hubert. "He's got Humbert."

"Your parents had some preoccupation with Teutonic names," mused Igor. "That mean bright."

"Bright in the sense of intelligent, or in the sense of color?" asked Harry.

Hubert gestured towards his hair. "What's it look like?" he snapped.

Snape grinned nastily. "It's better than having a perfectly ordinary boring name like _Harry Potter._"

"Is that his name, then?" asked Hubert. "He didn't say."

Harry blinked. "Yes, that's my name."

He'd wondered when the eventual babbling and gawking at recognition would happen. It didn't.

"Charmed," said Hubert again. "As I was _saying _before we brought up family history, you've received a level 5 Jolt from Harry over here."

Snape abruptly swore violently under his breath, in what sounded like very old English or possibly even Anglo-Saxon.

The party stopped dead again. "What the devil?" asked Igor. "You've just had your life saved, what's wrong?"

"Just that," snapped Snape. "_Life debt._ Damn him, he's repaid my Life Debt to his father! Stupid boy!"

Harry took a step backwards as Snape rounded on him.

"Do you _realize _what you've done?" shouted Snape. "You've caused a _cycle! _I've had to save you over and over, but that's not enough for you! You have to place me in _your _debtas well! You've just caused an _endless cycle _of debt for the both of us!"

Harry gulped.

"Eh… what?" asked Hubert.

"Bloody Hell," sighed Igor. "You've done it this time, Potter."

"What?" protested Harry weakly. "I just… I mean, I… er…"

"Calm down, Uncle Russ," soothed Hubert. "It'll be perfectly all right. You're bound to be a bit distraught after everything that's happened. Let's just get where we're going, and then we can have a nice relaxing cup of tea…"

"Potter, Snape had a life debt to your father," explained Igor, "which was never repaid and so was passed down to you. Life debts passed down cannot be repaid, but are continuous. Professor Snape must continue to save your life at every opportunity presented to him while you are under no obligation to repay him, since _he _is repaying _his _debt. The obligation is now mutual."

"Mutual?" repeated Harry. "You mean that…"

"You are required to protect me, as I am required to protect you," said Snape.

"That doesn't make any sense!" protested Harry. "You owed my father a life debt. You've repaid him by saving me. Now I've saved you. You therefore owe _me._"

"Mr. Potter," snapped Snape. "It doesn't _make _sense- it's _Magic. _Spells are fixed and unrelenting. Magic has no understanding, no brain, and no sense of circumstance. It simply _is. _While some can be worked to accept changed circumstances, most are immovable. Weather your target moves out of the way or not, your Spell still moves where you aimed it in the first place.

"I owed your father," Snape continued. "It is _impossible _for me to repay your father. Your father is _dead. _However, the Magic does not _understand _this. It crackles on, unaware, fixing itself to the nearest thing to James it can find, namely _you. _

"I am therefore compelled to rescue you by any means in my power from whatever danger you thrust your Gryffindor neck into. But no matter how much I do so, the Magic is unsatisfied- it knows I have not repaid _James, _but repaid the closest _substitute _of James.

"Your saving me warps the Magic from its path. You returned to me a life saved, the same service I repaid _James. _The Magic recognizes the debt as foreclosed. James gave and I repaid."

"I still don't understand," protested Harry. "If my father gave, and you repaid isn't that over? You don't owe James anymore, you owe me."

Snape shook his head. "Magic doesn't _understand. _It realizes that _the item _James gave me, was returned to _your care, _and then back to _me. _It doesn't understand that a life saved is not a _thing. _It realizes that I paid more than _once, _to _your care. _It realizes that you still _have _what I gave _you, _and that _James did not receive that." _

Harry blinked. "I don't understand."

"Think of it as a computer program," said Hubert unhelpfully. "When it gets into a loop and eventually crashes…"

Harry scratched his head. He didn't understand either Magic or computers. "You're saying, that in effect, you've been … paying James all this time, to my name, but … ah… er… the Magic won't recognize that James received it unless I _give it back?_"

Snape sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "That's precisely what I mean. It may not make sense to a Gringotts Goblin, but as far as the Magic is concerned, you are a substitute for James. Acting on his behalf, you returned my payment, acknowledging the debt as null and void."

"If it's null and void, then how can I possibly owe you?" protested Harry.

"The debt to _James _is null and void," explained Snape. "Since you gave it _back _effectively indicating that the debt was cancelled. That James didn't _want _it back. However, the Magic realizes that I gave to you multiple times, and only _one_ was owed to James. The others, which it had hitherto discounted as a futile effort to repay James, now count against _you. _You now owe _me _for several past events in which I saved your life. And I now owe you for _this _time that you saved _my _life.

Harry looked quite desperate by this time. "Why does it accept that I cancelled your debt, when it can't accept that I've _accepted _your repayment?"

"_I don't know!_" roared Snape. "_Nobody _knows! The Life Debt Cycle is a rare event, but nevertheless, Nicholas Flammel studied it for _over two centuries _trying to find out why it worked the way it did, and he _failed. _I haven't _got _two centuries. I don't _know _why the Magic accepts one transaction and not the other. _Nobody _understands!

"The only explanation I can give you is that we are trapped in a cosmic joke. A paradox. A Magical accident. You owe me a life. Every time you repay that life, I shall owe you a life for that life you pay me. It's an endless cycle. It can't be understood, much less stopped."

Harry took a deep breath, tried to understand, and failed miserably. "We will be obligated to protect each other?"

His eyes bored into Harry's, unreadable and icy.

"I'll do my best," said Harry. "I'm… sorry."

Snape gave a curt nod. "Not a word to a soul."

Harry nodded in return. "Of course, sir."

"Onwards," said Igor lightly. "Time for the intricate art of verbal misdirection."

"It's not as though we need explain anything," said Hubert. "After all, I've my oath of Healer Patient Confidentiality. Or I would if I were a doctor at all…"

"You're not?" asked Harry blankly. "Then what-"

Again, the group stopped to face him. He gulped.

"I'm a perfectly normal human being," supplied Hubert. "What you'd call, I believe, a Muggle. Though I may not be able to produce that Energy you'd call Magic myself, I am perfectly capable of using machines and so on that manipulate it.

"I have studied engineering and physics extensively, along with the physics of your Magic which Uncle Russ taught me. I believe he calls that Metaphysics and explained that in your world it's a legitimate field of study, while in ours we associate it with ridiculousness like Palm Readings and such.

"A combination thereof allows me to manipulate both sources of Energy. That, with a bit of basic medical training, allows me to quite well care for those medical emergencies of my Uncle's which he does not treat himself."

Igor nodded with the air of one who does not quite understand, but is to proud to ask.

"So Magic is related to Electricity?" asked Harry. "It certainly seemed like what you used a moment ago. Normally electricity goes berserk at Hogwarts…"

"Magic, as you call it, is a peculiar sort of Energy," explained Hubert, glad to be on his favorite subject. "I'm not sure what one would call it scientifically, since one can't isolate it, but it behaves partially like electricity, sometimes like magnetism, sometimes even like nuclear forces. I'm working on a complete classification system of different types, their effects, and how to work with them in a technical fashion for those who can't manipulate them naturally."

Harry blinked, trying to keep up with the swift paces of the others. "In other words, you're trying to make Muggle technology usable by Wizards and Magic usable by Muggles."

"Precisely," answered Hubert. "You see, I've seen a bit of both worlds, and it seems a crying shame that they're separate. If we'd just worked together centuries ago we'd have a common body of knowledge and would probably have worked out some symbiotic relationship before now. If they could use our technology and we could use their Magic, it would eliminate a great deal of the prejudices abounding in your world."

"It isn't just_ our _world with prejudice," protested Igor. "Muggles are just as likely to-"

"Yes, but not against _Wizards,_" returned Hubert. "One can't be prejudiced against something one doesn't know exists, and you do hide fairly well. Those things that we _do _notice, we either simply classify as unexplainable phenomena, or explain it in terms of our own realm of possibilities.

"You, on the other hand, know about Muggles, but refuse to examine them, their works, or their way of life, completely blind to their abilities on account of their disability to use your Energy.

"It may have made sense to hide during the Dark Ages, when you were known to a certain extent and hunted. But even then you could have taken a stand and proved to them that Magical ability has nothing to do with morality, or even that half the people they were convicting _had _no Magical ability.

"Now, even though mankind is mostly civilized and above petty superstition, you refuse to acknowledge this and hide under the assumption that if we _did _know about you, we'd either exterminate or exploit the lot of you. I don't quite follow that school of thought, considering that even though we are the majority, you have more than enough Power to eliminate us, or wash our memories of you. If we tried any less than peaceful action against your world, you'd exterminate _us._"

"Please, Hubert," said Snape. "Spare us your political theory for the moment."

"But Uncle Russ!" protested Hubert. "They need to be told-"

"I agree with you," said Harry abruptly, "but Professor Snape is right. We can't waste time discussing this now. Albus is going to want an explanation, and I'm sure none of you want to discuss family history with him over sweets."

Igor grimaced. "He mustn't know I'm alive," he said. "_Nobody _was supposed to know I was alive."

"Too late now," Hubert pointed out.

"He knows I have nephews," Snape thought aloud. "He doesn't know who or where they are. I think I can pass you off as … a distant relation."

"Who just so happened to be visiting Hogwarts at this time?" protested Igor. "It'll never work. It's too much of a coincidence."

"If you don't mind my saying so," said Harry. "You can say he's a contact for you, with some information. An informant from… Transylvania"

"I don't look _remotely _Transylvanian," said Igor. "He'll never believe _that._"

"But he'd believe that you would pretend to be Transylvanian" explained Potter. "You see, the less you explain, the more believable you are. If you explain for half an hour that you're related in some convoluted fashion to hide the simple truth, he'll think you've made it up. But, if you give him a short story, with little detail, he'll have less reason to suspect you, or at least, he'll _believe _he knows what parts are fact and what parts fiction."

Snape coughed. "One would think you made lying to the Headmaster a hobby, Potter."

Harry shrugged. "Lies of omission, I suppose. Which is precisely the way he deals with me. I give as good as I get."

"Much as I hate to say it," said Igor, "Mr. Potter has a point."

Snape groaned. "Let me do the talking. Unless directly addressed, the lot of you had better keep your mouths shut."

Harry nodded. "Yes, Professor Snape."

Igor sighed. "You always were better at misdirection than I was."

Hubert shrugged. "I can always use so much technical jargon that I confuse him to pieces," he said. "I'm an expert at making people's eyes glaze over."

"If you'd be so good as to break the Privacy Bubble, Mr. Potter," said Snape. "It would not do for him to think we had more to hide than we do."

Harry cancelled the Charm with a barely audible sigh of relief. It had been hard to maintain considering how tired and drained he was to begin with.

They had at last reached the gargoyle. Snape glared distastefully at it. "Sugar Quill."

The gargoyle jumped out of the way, the door opened, and the four entered the staircase that slowly began to screw upwards.

"Like an escalator," mused Hubert, "but not as smooth."

Snape shot him a glare, at which his nephew looked sufficiently contrite.

The staircase ground to a halt and they crowded onto the landing. Dumbledore's door opened of its own accord.

Dumbledore smiled like the Mona Lisa and beckoned to them. "Have a seat," he said. "Ogden's Old, anybody?"

Igor nodded. Dumbledore poured him a shot, as they sank into the chairs indicated.

Fawkes gave a shriek, then attacked Hubert who gave an exasperated cry and tried to shield his head.

"Fawkes," admonished Dumbledore, filling his own glass, "You are _not _to attack my guests!"

Fawkes gave a distressed squawk and flew sulkily back to his perch, not taking his eyes off Hubert.

Hubert sighed. "Is that what I think it is?"

"A Phoenix," said Albus. "I don't understand his reaction to you. He's never attacked anybody to have helped those loyal to me."

"He does, however, attack Muggles," said Snape.

"A Muggle who can see Hogwarts?" asked Dumbledore. "Fancy that."

"I've cast an Exemptionis Familiaris on him," explained Snape. "He can see Magic, Hogwarts, Dementors, and just about everything else in our world. But that's not what you called us up to discuss."

"No, no," said Dumbledore. "I'm just concerned about your health, my boy."

"His blood balance was off and reacted badly with a potion," said Hubert. "His balance has been restored with an injection of Plenirserum, and his energies had been significantly weakened by his exposure to certain substances in the Antidote which he had taken, so I gave a Energy Transfusion, Jolt level five, the donor being Potter. Their energies were compatible, being Type 2b."

Dumbledore blinked. "I see."

"So, with a little rest, he ought to be back to normal in a few days," finished Hubert. "He mustn't overexert himself."

Albus nodded. "And Mr. Potter, whatever _were _you doing out and about so late?"

Harry blinked. "I couldn't sleep. It's rather stuffy in the dormitories, so I went for a walk to get some air. On the way I met this man…" he trailed off, indicating Igor with a nod of his head.

Snape took over at this juncture, shooting a glare towards his nephew. "He's a contact of mine. We were supposed to meet tonight, but given my … accident, I hadn't met him on time."

"Well, it all worked out excellently, didn't it?" said Dumbledore happily. "Though I do wish you'd reconsider your medical arrangements, Severus. You nearly died."

"He did nothing of the kind," protested Hubert. "He quite nearly lost his sense of balance and put his circulatory system in a great deal of danger. He'll be quite all right, as I said, with some rest."

Igor said nothing, quietly knocking back his drink.

"If you don't mind, Headmaster," said Snape, "in spite of the outcome of his nightly stroll, Mr. Potter is still breaking quite a few school rules…"

"Fifteen points, Mr. Potter," said Albus quickly, lest Snape take more than that. "I'm disappointed in you."

Harry looked at his hands. "I'm sorry, sir."

"I had better be getting back home," said Hubert, rising. "I've probably been missed already."

"Thank you again, Healer Hubert," said Snape, rising as well. "I'm sure the Headmaster would not object to your using the Floo."

Albus gave a wave of his hand towards the fireplace.

"I'll see you over Christmas of course, Mr. Snape," said Hubert, taking a handful of the green powder. "Good bye."

The roar of the flames muffled the Healer's destination as he disappeared.

Snape and Igor exchanged glances.

Albus, noticing the tension, but misreading it, said, "You two probably have much to talk about. You had better get on with it, if there is nothing else you would like to tell me."

Snape shook his head curtly. "Good night, Albus."

Snape turned on his heel, robes billowing. Igor followed silently, as his cousin swept from the office.

Harry took a deep breath before looking up. Albus was giving him a grandfatherly smile.

"Is there nothing else you would like to tell me, my boy?" he asked.

Harry thought a moment. "Actually," he said, "I have a question."

Albus nodded.

"How did you _know _the Professor was ill and where we were?"

Dumbledore spread his hands. "Hogwarts has many secrets."

Harry shrugged. "I was just wondering if you had something like the Map, or if it was something else. Portraits, perhaps, but he hasn't one in his room…"

Dumbledore merely smiled. "Thirty points to Gryffindor."

Harry started. "Whatever for?"

"You've saved Professor Snape's life," said Albus quietly. "And Professor Snape's life is worth far more to me than rules about Curfew."

"Thank you, sir," said Harry. "May I go, now?"

Albus sipped at his drink. "You did say you couldn't sleep and there is something I've wanted to discuss with you for some time. Now's a good a time as any."

Harry nodded warily.

"You see, my boy," said the Headmaster, "we've been discussing the security measures in place for you."

Harry blinked at him and said nothing.

"I mean to say, we've been considering lifting the restraints on your movements," Albus continued. "It's not at all healthy to keep you cooped up in the castle, you know."

"Are you sure, sir?" asked Harry eagerly. "You said it wasn't safe…"

The Headmaster spread his hands. "Nothing is ever completely safe. I do not, however, wish you to roam the Grounds unprepared."

Harry nodded, waiting for the catch.

"You are a target for Voldemort," said the Headmaster. "You could be attacked at any time. You need to learn more Defense than the other students here."

"You want me to take extra lessons?" asked Harry.

"I am giving you a choice," said Albus. "Either things remain as they are and we must keep you within the castle for your own safety, or you must agree to take extra Defense Lessons with Professor Snape."

Harry blinked. "I already have extra lessons with Professor Snape for Occlumency," he said. "I wouldn't wish to take more of his time. Wouldn't Professor Argain normally teach his own subject?"

Albus shook his head. "Professor Argain may be our current Defense Professor," he said. "However, he is not the best to teach you the finer points of Wand to Wand Combat."

Potter frowned pretending to consider it. He was _already _taking extra lessons with Professor Snape, making them official couldn't hurt. "Has the Professor agreed, yet?"

"I have not yet discussed this with him," replied the Headmaster. "I will not discuss the possibility with him unless you are willing to take the lessons. If not, well, we will continue as we have been."

Harry grimaced. How dare the Headmaster bribe him with freedoms that were granted every other student, including several who were probably itching to kill him? He gritted his teeth, resolved to act as though he weren't happy with the arrangement.

"I'll do it," he grated out.

"Excellent," said Dumbledore. "I'm sure the Professor will inform you when and where you need to be. Mind you, it is far to late in the year to replace Gryffindor's Seeker…"

"And Quidditch is too dangerous for one in my position," finished Harry. "What if Professor Snape refuses to teach me?"

Albus smiled enigmatically. "Oh, I'm sure he'll agree," he said.

"Can I go now?" asked Harry, anxious to leave, afraid of giving something away.

The Headmaster smiled. "Good night, my boy."

Harry nodded, and left.

Albus leant back in his chair and chuckled to himself. "It will work out perfectly," he said to himself. "The more time Severus spends here, the less he can become involved with the Death Eaters. We do need information, but I can't afford to lose him and I'm afraid if he gets much closer to Voldemort he'll be found out. Not to mention the threat of Poisoning by Lucius Malfoy…"

Fawkes gave a trill.

"Of course, I'll have to monitor the lessons," Albus said to himself. "We can't have Harry learning Dark Magic. Just the Defense he needs."

Fawkes preened.

"And it's good to know that his Healer does know what he's doing," Albus continued. "Very good."

XXX

Harry descended the staircase as it screwed its way back down and tumbled out the door, just in time to see Snape and Igor disappear around the corner at the end of the hall. He followed quickly figuring that they couldn't complain since he needed to follow the same route for a while to get to Gryffindor tower.

"… meddling old man," Snape was saying as they turned the corner. "Remind me to tell my nephew that the next time I say 'let me do the talking' then _I _shall do the talking."

"He did all right," said Igor. "Dumbledore didn't question anything he said…"

"Probably filed it away to look up later," groused Snape. "I wouldn't put it past him to have an Audari Charm recording every word said in his office."

Harry caught up with them, joining them on staircase six a split second before it began to move.

"Mr. Potter," said Snape dangerously. "It is far to late for you to be skulking about."

Harry nodded. "I'm on my way back to the tower," he said. "And I'm sorry about earlier."

Snape sighed. "I suppose I cannot blame you," he said. "Damnation, though._ What _is it about the Potter family that causes them to recklessly save my life?"

Harry shrugged. "We can make up the lesson later," he said. "I just wanted you to know that Dumbledore is going to try and make you give me extra Defense lessons so that he can let me out of the castle again."

Snape shook his head. "Even when he takes my advice he works behind my back. Very well, Potter. Don't look too put out when you hear I've accepted."

Harry nodded and nearly fell flat on his face when the staircase slammed into the landing. "Good night, Professor," he said, righting himself with aid of the banister. "And thank you."

"Good night," said Snape curtly, sweeping off in the opposite direction. Igor stared after Harry for a moment, a frown on his face, before following his cousin.


	45. Carpe Noctem

**Carpe Noctem**

"I'm sorry about the Potion," Igor said as soon as they were back in Severus' rooms, the wards replaced. "I was foolish to rely on readings that old… I should have known that your balance would be prone to fluctuation."

Severus sighed. "I shouldn't have given in so readily," he said. "I was foolish to accept it without testing. Let us speak no more of it."

Igor nodded. "Your nephew is very much like you."

Severus shrugged, sinking into a chair and waving Karkaroff to the other. "I brought him up. His brother as well. Mordred died, and his wife, well…"

"Not willing to face the possibility of magical sons?" asked Igor.

"No, not willing to face reminders of Mordred," sighed Snape.

"I hope you will let me get to know them," said Igor. "I've so little family as it is."

Snape shrugged, "If you like."

Igor sighed. "Now, if you don't mind, you'll explain why your blood is so far off balance."

"I still wear the white mask, Igor," Severus said with a grimace. "I'm glad it is just my blood that is being affected and I'm not missing a limb or worse."

Running his hands through his glamour-altered hair, Igor said, "If there is anything I could do to help, to make up for my carelessness…"

Snape leaned back in his chair and shut his eyes. "If I'm not mistaken you received your mastery in Blood Magic."

Igor nodded, then realizing his cousin couldn't see him, said, "I did. And you could have done so as well with much better results if you hadn't chosen Potions."

"I've not practiced in a while," Severus admitted, "though I'm sure you have, the regulations in your country being what they are."

Karkaroff licked his lips in thought. "I have practiced. It is my Mastery, after all, and I taught a bit of it, together with Defense."

"I nearly have a solution," said Snape, "but it requires an expert."

"What are you trying to accomplish?" asked Igor.

Snape smiled tiredly. "Sabotage."

Igor grinned. "I'd be glad to assist."

XXX

Harry checked his watch. Eleven thirty. If he took Snape's Dreamless Sleep he wouldn't wake until at least nine thirty, an hour and a half after classes started. Sighing, he resigned himself to a sleepless night.

Rummaging about in his bag, he found the Marauder's Map and activated it with a tap of his wand.

"I solemnly swear I am up to no good."

The map swirled and finally showed what he wanted to see, the Gryffindor Dormitories. Knowing that all of his mates were sound asleep, he smiled in grim satisfaction, wiped the map clear and replaced it. It was time to visit Myrtle.

Not noticing that a figure from one of the portraits was following him by a small distance, from frame to frame, Potter headed for the second floor wondering for the hundredth time why hallways couldn't stay put.

Reaching the bathroom, he eased the door open and tiptoed inside.

"Myrtle?"

"Yes?" her quavering voice answered, as she materialized over the sink. "Come to mock me have you? Not even left alone in the middle of the night…"

"Myrtle, please, it's just me," said Harry soothingly.

"Harry," she said, brightening considerably which made her look like some odd sort of lantern. "You've come back."

"I said I would, didn't I?" said Harry easily, dropping his bag by the door. "Seen any interesting baths lately?"

Myrtle sighed. "Peeves found out," she moaned. "Fixed all the taps so you can't look through them. Nasty, _nasty _thing, he is."

Harry tsked and shook his head. "So sorry about that."

He had learned long since how to humor Myrtle. He needed to remain on good terms with her to have access to what he now affectionately thought of as his practice room.

She sniffed unhappily. "He's not even a proper ghost. I heard the Baron say that… but I'm not allowed to_ tell._" With a wail she began to weep ghostly tears, dimming to a dull gray.

"It's all right," said Harry, kneeling by his bag to get out his ball of rope. "I'm sure Peeves is just jealous of you. After all, he never really lived, much less experienced such an amazing thing as _death._"

As he'd hoped, Myrtle brightened again, with a sigh that was almost cheerful. "Yes, death is such a _lovely _thing. Are you _sure _you don't want to? You could join me you know, life is _so _long and can be _very _boring."

"I told you, Myrtle," said Harry, "when I die, if I come back, I'll stay with you."

"_If _you come back," sniffled Myrtle. "Don't know _why _you like to live so much. I tell you, it's _ever _so much easier being dead, except for the Ministry. They don't let you haunt whom you please. I _deserved_ to haunt Olive."

"Of course," said Harry. "But you see, if I died now, people wouldn't like it. They'd overrun the place."

Myrtle let ought an unhappy whimper. "I can't _ever _have what I want! Poor me, poor 'moaning, stupid, fat little Myrtle.' They would, too. Run in and yell at you for dying, and then make fun of me. 'Fat Myrtle. Pimply Myrtle...'"

"I've seen pictures of Olive Hornby," Harry lied, "she was probably terribly jealous of you."

The ghost let out another wail of despair. "What _good _does it do?" she shrieked. "_Everybody _loved Olive! Everybody listened to her! Just because she hated me, she said all those things, 'poor ugly nearsighted fat, Myrtle…'"

"Open up," Harry hissed in Parseltongue. A sink shifted, revealing the rather mundane entrance to the Chamber of Secrets, a sewer pipe.

With a grimace, Harry wrapped his rope several times about a hook he'd recently discovered on the inside of the piping wall and knotted it securely.

"Bye, Harry," sniffled Myrtle. "And remember… if you die…"

"Of course," said Harry. "Happy haunting."

Grabbing the rope, swinging into the pipe and bracing himself on its opposite wall, he hissed the command to shut the entrance. The sink swung into place, leaving him in complete darkness.

He blinked several times before his eyes became accustomed to the light, or rather the lack thereof, then began slowly letting himself down. Harry had developed this method of descent to avoid odd questions about laundry covered in slime, not to mention the fact that falling down a slide several stories long with no way to slow down or stop was extremely unappealing. Most importantly he didn't normally have a Phoenix to fly back out with.

Gritting his teeth, he began to let himself down slowly, hand over hand, using his feet to keep from swinging into the walls. As always he held onto the hope that his rope would hold, but should it fail, that the Cushioning Charm from his last visit was still adequate.

After what seemed an age, his feet touched the ground and he let go of the rope. Drawing his wand, he finally risked light.

"Lumos."

His shoes made squelching noises in the damp as he walked. He scrambled through the narrow opening left from Lockhart's accident and continued on until he reached the wall with Slytherin's seal.

"Open up," he hissed again. The snakes parted and the stone slide smoothly open, allowing him to pass through.

The first time Harry had been in the Chamber he had been out of his mind with fear and worry. Now he could see how pathetically ugly the place actually was. The carvings were cruder than he remembered and he could now tell that the green glow, which had so horrified him as a second-year, was caused by the slime and mold everywhere, not by any ancient Magic.

Harry had spent a long time searching for a place to practice. He had returned to the Chamber as an absolute last resort when he had realized that not only could nobody follow him there, but also that not even Ron or Hermione could find him with the Marauders Map. The Chamber was the only room in the Castle not shown.

At first he'd been worried and a trifle squeamish about going there again, considering that as far as he knew the dead basilisk had never been removed. However, by chance, the King of Serpents had been covered, thankfully without a specimen handy, in Care of Magical Creatures. Hagrid had explained that due to their highly toxic nature a Basilisk would be preserved by its own venom for several centuries before it could even begin to decompose.

Aside from being a bulky nuisance on the floor, the snake was no problem at all. Harry entered the final chamber and shuffled passed the coiled remains. He began to practice defensive Spells until he passed out from exhaustion. He'd long since arranged for Myrtle to come down if ever he didn't return on time. Even the deepest sleeper would wake up if a ghost passed through them.

XXX

"- there's a very large probability that if you use your blood as the trigger, especially considering the new complication of the Cycle of Debt, it will react with his mother's Protective Magic somehow," Igor speculated excitedly.

Snape had shown Karkaroff his notes on the Blood Magic Project and Igor had leapt at the chance to work in his favorite field. With so many variables and unknown factors, the unique situation couldn't help but draw his interest. Like a Niffler after a glimmer of metal, he dove into the Spells and Potions information, mind going fifty directions at once, considering all possible ramifications.

"On the one hand," said Igor, "the Protective Magic might override the Malignant Intent your allies are trying to infuse it with," Igor went on avidly, "but on the other, there might just be an incredible backlash against the Dark Lord, when his Intent clashes with all the Protective Magics. What do you think, Severus?"

Igor, getting no answer, looked up from the dozens of charts and calculations to see that his cousin had fallen asleep. Feeling a bit guilty for getting so wrapped up in the project, that he had forgotten Severus had just had a very close brush with death and had been prescribed much rest, Igor rose and tapped Snape lightly on the shoulder.

"If you sleep in that chair," Igor said, "you'll wake with a horrid crick in your neck."

Instantly Snape tensed and his eyes flew open. Seeing Igor he let out a groan.

"Here," said Igor, helping his cousin to his feet, "get to bed. I'll come see you as soon as I find a way to make it work."

Severus allowed himself to lean on his cousin as far as the bedroom door. "Good night, Igor," he said. "And do get Florean to get rid of that ridiculous face before you forget."

Igor started. "How did you know about Fortescue?"

Snape smiled tiredly. "I taught him myself. Good night. Travel well."

"Good night, Severus."

XXX

Ronald Weasley sighed and stared at the pattern overhead in his four-poster. Something had woken him, but he wasn't sure what it had been. There was no sound except for the quiet breathing of his roommates, and Neville's snore. He groped about on the nightstand for his wand and cast the Tempus Charm. Four in the morning.

With a sigh, he fell back onto his pillow. It was too early to get up, but he found himself far too alert to go back to sleep. Mentally he went over his timetable. Divination first, then Care of Magical Creatures, Lunch. Double Astronomy in the evening. Was all his homework finished?

Suddenly, the creaking of the Dormitory door disrupted the stillness. Ron, carefully quiet, gripped his wand and readied a stunning curse, waiting for the intruder to make the first move.

Hardly daring to breath, Ron strained his ears, hearing the stealthy footsteps come closer. The stranger was headed directly to Harry's bed! Heart in his throat, Ron parted curtains just enough to peek out, 'Stupefy' on the tip of his tongue.

Sensing movement the intruder whirled about. Ron let out a relieved sigh, a bit embarrassed at nearly having stunned his best friend.

"Harry," he hissed, "what the bloody hell are you doing up this early?"

Harry looked round hastily to be sure he hadn't disturbed anybody else before crossing to Ron's bed. "Couldn't sleep," he whispered. "What are _you _doing up?"

Ron shrugged. "Something woke me up. Probably you prowling about downstairs. You had me scared stiff."

Harry scrambled onto the bed, after kicking off his shoes, and sat cross-legged on the end of it. "Sorry."

Ron stared at his friend for a moment before he said, "You know, it's odd that you never go anywhere when you can't sleep except to study in the Common Room, but you always come back with slime on your shoes."

Harry ducked his head. "Would you believe me if I said I took a walk by the lake?"

Ron grinned and shook his head. "Nah. There're half a dozen Wards set to ring an alarm if you set foot outside after dark."

Harry grimaced. "After dark? All the time."

Ron sighed. "You couldn't sleep?"

Harry nodded.

Ron replaced his wand on the nightstand and shut the curtains. "Couldn't sleep or afraid to sleep?" He resettled himself under the covers. Harry didn't say anything.

"Look, mate," said Ron, "I understand. After Ginny… I had nightmares so bad during that summer…I went over and over it in my dreams. We were too late, or Lockhart managed to wipe my mind blank. Got so that I'd stay awake all night so I wouldn't have a dream. Bill knocked some sense into me before school started, than Circe."

"Ron, I've taken care of the nightmares, I told you," Harry said. "Snape gave me Dreamless Sleep. I just stayed up too long to take it and…"

"And you stayed up until four am so that you'd be too tired to dream," finished Ron, "but now that it's so early you're afraid to go to sleep even if you won't dream because you won't wake up in time."

Harry sighed. Ron crossed his arms behind his head.

"Look," said Ron, "I'm your best friend. I'd much rather that instead of sneaking off to wherever you sneak off to, you just woke me up. All for one and one for all and all that."

Harry gave a wan smile. "It's not that bad."

Ron returned it with a stern look. "Harry, I'm serious. You always say it 'isn't that bad'. Your letters always say, "I'm fine," but a few years ago my brothers and I had to break you out of your room. Hermione once said you had a 'saving people thing,' but I think it's less about the other people and more about yourself. Why don't you understand that you're worth something, too? It's all right to bother your friends at two in the morning when they're asleep. Merlin, I've bothered _you _at two in the morning when _I _couldn't sleep, and that wasn't because of You-Know-Who, that was just exam nerves.

"I understand that with all the rules they've dropped on your head, no Quidditch, no leaving the castle without escort - you might want some air. But - look at yourself. You've got bags under your eyes big enough to pack for an overseas holiday."

Harry ran a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry I haven't been telling you everything," he said. "It's just that… I've realized exactly how badly I can hurt somebody just by… I don't want…"

"Harry, you don't understand. I'm your _friend,_" Ron whispered fiercely. "I may not always have been the best friend, and we have had fights, but even in first year I could figure out that there was a certain risk involved in being associated with you, and I haven't left you.

"I know He-Who-Must – I know _Voldemort _is after your blood. I know Death Eaters are after you. I know that you're expected to kill him. I know you still blame yourself for everybody that has been hurt or worse… I've faced Death Eaters too, Harry.

"I know you always put others before yourself, and that you do everything you can to make sure nothing happens to me, Hermione, or my family," he went on, "but … remember the chess game, first year? If that Queen had been Lucius Malfoy, and the King you could checkmate had been Voldemort, I'd have done the same thing. I'd do it now."

"_Don't,_" said Harry in an anguished whisper.

"If Hermione were kidnapped and held," said Ron, "and the only way to rescue her was to lay down and die, you'd do it wouldn't you?"

Harry looked at him uncomprehendingly. "Of course."

"Then why don't you understand that we'd do the same for you?"

Harry shook his head violently. "That's _different._"

"Why?" asked Ron harshly. "You put your life on the line to save Sirius, but I don't think you've even considered that act as something of value. And you still hold yourself responsible because he did the same thing for you. Why is it okay for you to do something and not okay for the rest of us to that very same thing? Why does everything have to be your responsibility?"

"I…"

"Listen to me, Harry," said Ron earnestly. "I don't care if you have nightmares about Death Eaters or Potions Exams. I don't care if you're in danger from a Bludger or Avada Kedavra. I'll help you with any of it. All of it."

"I can't," said Harry.

"Can't what?"

Harry leaned back onto one of the bedposts and wrapped his arms around himself. "Ron, last year… I was so glad to have you at my back. You've no idea how sorry I am that you were hurt, that I put you in such danger without making sure it was necessary first.

"I realize what I have to do and I realize I can't do it alone. But some of the things I'm doing to prepare are illegal. While I don't care that somebody finds out about me, I… there's somebody helping me. I can't betray him. Not to anybody. Not ever."

Ron nodded slowly. "You may not be able to tell me who he is, but you can tell me what you are doing…?"

Harry took a deep breath, teetering on the edge of giving away his secret.

"I may not be much help," said Ron, "but… it looks like you need somebody to spill to. And if the only thing I can do to help you is listen, then that's what I'll do."

Harry shut his eyes and said the sentence that had been echoing in his brain for days.

"I am learning Avada Kedavra."

Ron nodded, "I was wondering whether they'd make you."

Harry sat up quickly. "You- you mean you don't-"

"Don't what? Hate you for it? Want to run screaming into the night? I've known you were probably going to have to kill Voldemort since he came back," said Ron. "I didn't expect Wingardium Leviosa to do the trick."

"How can you be so-?"

"Matter of fact?" asked Ron. "You know, once you think about complicated problems long enough all the outside edges disappear. I thought about it a long time, until all the little things disappeared and I saw that it was very simple: either you kill him, or he kills you. I'd much rather you be the one that stayed."

Harry blinked. "I… thanks, Ron. For… everything."

"It's too late to sleep now, Harry," Ron said, sitting up. "But it's early enough to talk."

Harry shook his head. "What's there to say? I'm taking lessons in illegal defensive and offensive Magics, and I'm… I'm getting _good _at them. That's what scares me. I have dreams where I… where it's all so easy, and I become like him, like Voldemort. Because it's easy, and I can have whatever I want if I do, and…now, in the dreams, it isn't Voldemort I'm afraid of, I- " he broke off with a shudder.

Ron opened the drawer to his nightstand and pulled out a small phial, and tossed it to Harry who caught it reflexively. "Pepperup," Ron explained.

"But- isn't that just to cure colds?" asked Harry. "Isn't that what makes your ears fizz?"

Ron shrugged. "It's a brand name. They make the Hipworth Potion for colds, but also this one. Its proper name is Aqua Vigori, or something like that, but… you can tell if somebody's ears are smoking or not, so you always know which one they're talking about. Take it now, and you'll be up and alert till about noon. It's Tuesday, so we're free after that until Astronomy…"

Harry stared at the bottle in his hand. "Thanks."

"You know," said Ron, "it's the only thing I've ever seen Professor Snape take."

"You sure?"

Ron shrugged. "He was in a hurry between class and something else. I don't think he realized I was still there. Odd, though. You'd think he'd make it himself."

Harry blinked. "Maybe it's something too simple to be worth his bother."

Ron snickered. "Actually," he said, "I heard a rumor that he brews all the potions in the Infirmary, and just refills the old bottles."

Ron snicker grew into a hysterical infectious giggle. Harry clutched his sides and laughed with his friend, not really knowing why it was funny in the first place. Finally, Harry came to his senses enough to shush his friend before they woke their roommates.

For a while they said nothing.

"What are you going to do when the war's over?" asked Ron abruptly.

Harry shrugged. "If…"

"Don't you _dare _say 'if I live,'" threatened Ron. "You're going to survive this war if it kills you. I mean - er…"

Harry smiled. "I was going to say, 'If they let me.' I'll disappear. Imagine what people'd be like if I actually got rid of him. I'd have to get away. Don't know what I'll do, or where I'll go, just somewhere where nobody will recognize me. Where nobody would know what I'd done."

Ron blinked. "And after it's died down and you come back?"

Harry smiled. "You'll be the first to know."


	46. Death Eaters' Post

**Death Eaters' Post**

Igor Karkaroff grinned. He had worked long and hard calculating the various effects and counter effects possible and to find the Spells for extracting the particular Essences he would need from the blood. All that he needed now was a Spell to attach the extracted Essences to an object.

He readied the notes into two neat scrolls, and penned a quick note to his cousin:

_Severus,_

_It is quite clear that the ultimate effect will be one of protection, despite the Dark Lord's Malignant Intent, which shall be overridden by his Mother's Sacrificial Protection and the Protective Impulse from your Debt. Added to this is your own Benevolent Intent towards the child. Also, a good part of the Dark Lord's blood contains Potter's Essence, which will only strengthen the child. Frankly, if the finished product is used, the boy will be nearly invulnerable. He will be as safe as he can be._

_I have taken the liberty of sending you two sets of my notes. The first one is for you, the other I have so written as to disguise the truth and make your colleagues believe the end effect will still be one of harm. _

_Once again, cousin, I apologize for inadvertently causing such harm to you, especially as they must have caused you to miss the traditional festivities at your school. At the least, I hope the pleasure involved in chastising students overly tired from late night partying will in the very least improve your mood, if not your health. _

_Yours in faith,_

_Igor Karkaroff_

He whistled shrilly, then gave sent the letter and the notes to his owl. Igor grinned and leant back in his chair as the owl fluttered off. Life was good.

XXX

Severus sighed as he finished the note. "Only good thing about passing out on the floor is that I missed the whole damnable Halloween madness," he said to himself. "'Improve my mood,' indeed!"

He quickly read the work Igor had sent him and began to smile an evil, calculating smile. Igor was correct. Invulnerability. What more perfect way to stab the Dark Lord in the back than to set his own servants to protecting his worst enemy?

Not only was the Sacrificial Protection from Lily Potter overwhelmingly present in the Blood Snape had tested, but with the added Protection provided by the Life Debt Severus still owed, the Essence was powerfully benedictive.

With a sadistic glee he added his own work, the remaining spells needed, to that of his cousin. "A double blow," he said. "Lucius will know I've not written all of this. He'll know I've help. To strike one with allies is to invite revenge. It will give him pause, not for long, but long enough."

Writing quickly, he provided his own set of false calculations to Igor's as Rabastan would have to believe that the spell would cause near-immediate death. He switched positive test results to negative, played with the numbers until they seemed to prove what he wanted them to.

He went over everything one last time, making sure that the deception was complete. Knowing that he could not possibly allow either Lucius or Dolohov know the extent of the protection they were providing, Severus shifted the results to show a mere shadow of the extent of the spell.

With a grin, he sent a quick letter, with the usual security Charms, to Lucius, along with Igor's fabricated notes and his own skewed results and falsehoods, before heading off to breakfast.

XXX

Lucius Malfoy smirked, tossing Severus' note on the table.

_Malfoy,_

_I do believe I have managed to find a solution to our problem. The first set of notes is accurate. The second has been prepared to mislead Rabastan Lestrange, as he must be assured that Dolohov is still working towards the demise of the boy. _

_Regards,_

_Severus Snape._

It was so useful, Lucius thought, to have people who would do your work for you. Snape had ever so much more ability in the area of Blood Magic than he would ever have himself, as the man actually had the patience to do the long dreary Arithmancy and testing involved, accurately and as swiftly as possible, whereas Lucius invariably made some careless error due to haste or distraction.

Satisfied that Severus would have provided a convincing set of lies, Lucius packaged them without bothering to read, and added his own work, which was on the most beneficial time to complete the spell according to the position of certain planets. He sent it all to Dolohov, adding a curt note of explanation.

XXX

Dolohov groaned as he saw the fat set of scrolls Lucius' owl dropped on his desk. "Damnation," he muttered to himself. "I hope they've managed to make it all work."

Quickly scanning what had been sent to him, he was satisfied. He had never been particularly good at Magical Theory, but he knew enough to realize that what they had said was plausible.

Taking a deep breath, he extracted the false calculations and sent them to Rabastan. "He won't know," he reassured himself. "He can't be punished for what he doesn't know. And if it works, I just have to stay alive long enough to enjoy it."

XXX

In his library, Rabastan Lestrange frowned, shuffling through the notes Dolohov had sent him. Something was seriously wrong. It was not Antonin's handwriting, but a swirling egotistic penmanship that Rabastan recognized.

He examined the parchment carefully, examining writing, hardly daring to breathe in excitement. Curiously scrawled lowercase 'r's that looked much like dented 'n's, the uncrossed 't's, the horrid habit of squeezing the last several words in a line together to save space, the flourishes of ending letters that flashed backwards through the word.

"Karkaroff," he said to himself, staring at the pages in his hand. "Igor Karkaroff… not AKed after all, were you?"

Flipping through the pages of notes quickly, he saw that the handwriting changed. Quick, sure strokes, slanting ever so slightly to the right, long thin letters. Precise, devoid of any useless frills. _Severus Snape. _

After Severus' pages, there were several pages of the overly curly, slightly careless round penmanship of Lucius Malfoy.

Biting his lip, he glared at the owl that had brought him the packet. Abandoning the notes, he leant over in his chair to retrieve the original envelope the packet had been sent in.

No doubt about it, it had been addressed by Dolohov himself, and delivered by Dolohov's Owl.

"What in the name of Cerebus have you got yourself into?" whispered Rabastan. "You were going to try and get Malfoy to help, get him to _use _Severus… but it's too detailed. Severus obviously _knows _what we're working on! Myrdin!"

Taking a deep breath, Lestrange forced himself not to panic. "Karkaroff," he said to himself. "They told us he was dead. But…damnit!"

He shuffled through the pages again, but the lettering remained the same.

"He's alive, then," he said, "or they want me to _think _he's alive."

Thinking quickly, Rabastan considered his options. He could confront Antonin about it, demand to know why Lucius had brought Severus further into the matter than was necessary, and demand to be informed of Karkaroff's status.

Biting his lip, he realized this would be a foolish way of going about things. Antonin was not a particularly subtle person, and had probably not considered the fact that he would recognize the handwriting at all, and had probably sent them the way he had received them, not bothering to copy.

"Thank goodness he's lazy," he thought to himself, "or I'd not have known at all."

Lucius Malfoy had a typically snobbish way of underestimating others, and probably thought Severus knew nothing, but Rabastan was sure that Severus had long since ascertained that the project he was working on, and that for which he'd been forced to give blood, were one and the same.

"And of course, if our Lord finds out we didn't do it on our own, and that we let slip what was what," Rabastan thought, "we could all end up AKed."

After a moment's thought Rabastan was convinced that Antonin hadn't any idea of whom they were working with, let alone that it was a supposedly dead comrade. No, the poor fool had surely solicited help from Lucius Malfoy and Lucius hadn't told him where he had acquired his own information.

"I'll have to talk with Narcissa," he decided. "If anybody can get Lucius to do anything, it's she. He's got to get Severus off the project before something goes wrong. As for Karkaroff… how in the name of the seven hills did he survive?"

XXX

"Good morning, Severus," greeted Minerva. "At last, the resident grouch agrees to join polite society."

Severus glared at her and took his seat at the high table.

"Are you quite all right, my boy?" asked Dumbledore.

"Quite," Severus answered tersely, reaching for the nearest carafe.

"You missed everything yesterday," said Pomphrey. "I can understand leaving for fear of the Weird Sisters, but honestly, you left before the Midnight Madness!"

Severus barred his teeth at her in a predatory grin. "I believe _you _missed more last night than I did.

"Me?" asked Pomphrey, nonplussed. "I was there until three in the morning!"

Snape simply smirked.

"Damnit," cursed Pomphrey. "You were _ill _weren't you! You arrogant, stupid, self-centered…"

"Beg pardon, Poppy," interrupted McGonagall snidely, "but by now you really ought to have realized that Severus only gets sick to provoke you. His condition is solely there for you to whet your temper on."

"What is _that _supposed to mean?" protested Poppy. "I simply care about the health of those in my care, and- "

"- and Severus is _not _in your care," finished McGonagall.

Severus smirked in triumph. Not five minutes passed and he had gotten a marvelous argument started.

"I do apologize for missing the festivities," he said carelessly to nobody in particular. "It was only partially unintentional."

"Harry Potter left early, too," said Sinistra. "Honestly, somebody ought to teach that child how to have fun."

Severus blinked. He hadn't even thought of the date when he had scheduled the lesson, and Potter hadn't said a word in protest. The boy was serious after all. He had missed quite a bit of a festival, for an Occlumency lesson that hadn't even taken place. He had _practiced _when Severus had failed to arrive, instead of leaving after ten minutes to join the festivities like any normal child.

"You pay far too much attention to Mr. Potter," Severus said curtly. "Though I suppose one ought to be grateful that he spared you his heroics for one night."

McGonagall broke off her argument with Poppy to snap, "Mr. Potter is _not _the spoiled child you make him out to be. Just because _you-"_

She broke off as an owl dropped a scroll at Severus' plate, narrowly missing his kippers.

Severus, recognizing Malfoy's handwriting, wandlessly cast a Magic detection charm to be sure the note was not dangerous. It revealed nothing other than the usual silly charms Malfoy used to frill his missives, and to ensure that nobody could read them save the intended recipient, or with their permission. With a sigh, he unrolled it to read:

_Severus,_

_I do believe that now that our work is over we require a celebration of some sort, or at the very least a great deal of discussion on how to proceed. Time is of the essence, our plan must not fail. Join me and Dolohov at the Triple Serpent for dinner at six._

_Your friend,  
Lucius Malfoy._

With a grimace Severus held out the letter to a nearby candle and let it catch. It flared impressively, before he crumpled it to ash and let it fall to the floor. As though this were absolutely normal, he went on with his breakfast knowing that rumors would fly.

XXX

Rabastan stepped into the ice cream parlor and slid into a booth near the back. He had written to Narcissa and as he had expected she had replied, eager for information when she heard that it concerned her husband. She had been the one to insist they meet at Fortescue's.

It made sense he decided. Fortescue's was a place where ordinary people met ordinary people and had boring ordinary conversations. Nobody bothered to eavesdrop on two friends who met for some coffee and sweets on an ordinary Wednesday.

He hadn't waited long when he saw her stride into the room, drawing all eyes to her. He cursed under his breath. Didn't she realize that making an entrance like that attracted too much attention of the wrong sort? Even her robes were chosen as though to demand attention. She wore a green robe of cloth that looked as flimsy as a spider's web and glittered.

Rabastan found himself wondering whether his sister-in-law realized just how ridiculous it looked for a woman her age to be wearing something that revealing, especially considering the weather.

Narcissa swept through the room as though she owned it. She stopped abruptly before Rabastan, who rose to great her.

"Sister," he said, respectfully kissing her hand, "it is good to see you again."

"Brother," she replied easily, "I hope you are well."

He nodded again, pulling out her chair for her, before re-seating himself.

She smiled lightly. "How is my sister?"

Rabastan shrugged. "I haven't seen Bellatrix or my brother in some time, but I assume she is well."

"She's insane," said Narcissa shortly. "Azkaban has destroyed her mind."

Rabastan sighed. "I know, Rodolfus as well."

"Then no use telling me she is well," snapped Narcissa. "I've lost plenty to this damnable charade and don't you dare pretend it didn't happen just because _you _weren't taken. You escaped on a technicality."

Realizing that Florean was approaching she turned, looking down her nose at him.

"Coffee. Black."

"And you, sir?" asked Florean.

"Hot chocolate."

Florean slipped away and the two resumed their conversation, after a rapid and discreet Silencing Spell on Rabastan's part.

"Out with it, Rabastan," said Narcissa. "What has happened with my husband to get you so agitated? What do you know and what do you want for it?"

"First of all," said Rabastan carefully, "if I am not mistaken, your love for your husband has diminished quite severely since the Fall."

"He got himself out," Narcissa said coldly, "and he could have helped my sister, but he left her to rot. He said could not afford to look anything less than Light, could not afford to defend a known criminal. Just _look _at her now. _He _did that."

Rabastan nodded. "And, if I have heard correctly, he has not been… constant… of late."

His sister-in-law scowled. "He has always worn two faces."

"Then, I have this to show you," he said, pulling out the notes that had been sent him. "You know I have been set a project by our Lord?"

Narcissa nodded. "The Blood Magic," she said. "Yes."

"It is, strictly speaking, only supposed to be between myself and Antonin Dolohov," he continued, "but we weren't progressing with any amount of speed. You know neither of us is skilled in that particular branch of Magic, so I requested the assistance of your husband. Or rather, I asked Dolohov to smooth things with him, as you know Lucius has never liked me."

She looked at her fingernails. "He never did like your family," she said thoughtfully. "Especially when you brought yourselves to his sphere by marrying into the same family as he did."

Rabastan spread the pages out before him. "Apparently, despite knowing the need for security, he felt the need to bring in outside help." He tapped one of the scrolls with a finger. "Not only Severus Snape, who gave his blood, but was _not _to know the use thereof, but also - " he spread a second out before her raising an eyebrow. "Do you recognize this?"

She stared at the parchment in shock. "Igor," she whispered. "_Damn _Lucius!"

Rabastan silently congratulated himself for hitting on precisely the point that would guarantee her help. He had gambled heavily that Lucius had not told his wife of Karkaroff and he was apparently quite right. Rabastan knew that Narcissa had been overly fond of the Bulgarian, just as she was overly fond of Snape, and that she would be murderously angry with Lucius for hiding the fact that her friend was alive.

"I am worried," he said. "He seems to be … planning something … untoward."

Her eyes glittered as she flipped through the pages of notes. Suddenly she leaned forward and stared directly into his eyes. "I _know _he is planning something untoward."

XXX

Severus waited until his class had filed out before deciding that a bit of uproar against the students was in order considering their lack of attention due to the previous night's festivities. He cast his extremely complicated Glamours, then proceeded to drift invisibly out of his classroom as Peeves.

Quick as a gust of air, he shot to the other end of the hall and materialized there as though coming from the other direction. "Ickle Slytherins!" he cackled. "What FUN!"

In a flash wands were drawn. Severus swooped down and grabbed one after another, speeding down the hall with them, cackling insanely.

His students followed in a mad dash, shrieking with frustration.

With another evil cackle, he reached the stairwell and shot up the shaft just as the stairs swung out of reach of his students.

He slowed himself at the third floor, dropping the wands back down to the dungeon floor as soon as his students were out of sight. He knew their next professor would surely take enough points from Slytherin for their mass tardiness to make up for his favoritism.

A sob distracted him. "Myrtle," he thought vindictively. "Perfect."

Materializing once more, he floated off to her favorite haunt, where he saw her wailing.

"Hello, pimply," he cackled, "all alone?"

To his surprise, Myrtle stopped crying and smirked at him. "I know _you _are just jealous," she sniffed. "He _told _me so! Because you never died! You never even lived! You're just a petty poltergeist! You taunt me to make yourself feel better!"

"_Who's _been telling fat little ugly Myrtle such things?" he sneered.

"Harry Potter!" she said proudly. "He- he's _nice._ And he comes to visit me! And he _promised _to haunt with me when he's dead! It won't be long, and then you'll all be SORRY you made fun of me!"

Peeves flipped over in the air. "Sad silly Myrtle, sits by herself, with big ugly glasses, on the bathroom shelf. She thinks we'll believe her, when she tells us silly lies, if she doesn't shut her mouth, it'll get full of flies!"

"I'm not listening," said Myrtle, turning her back on him, "I don't care _what _you say!"

"Moaning Moping Myrtle, sits in a stall, crying about anything, or nothing at all," sang Peeves' nasty voice, "Sad sill schoolgirl, all dead and gone, pretending not to listen, to the moaning Myrtle song. She moans and she sighs, she groans and she cries, but nobody loves girls who have tears in their eyes. She'll be all alone for the rest of her haunting, romance as a ghost sure must be daunting!"

"I'm not _listening _to you!" screamed Myrtle, transparent fingers stuffed into her ears. "I'm _not_! I'm _not_! I'm _not!_"

"Is Myrtle upset?" came the singsong voice. "Poor little Myrtle, all in love with Harry, but the boy ran away, because the ghost was scary!"

"I'm _not _crying!" sobbed Myrtle. "I'm _not _upset! _GO AWAY AND LEAVE ME ALONE!" _

With that, Myrtle exited with a splash, in her usual unhygienic method.

Snape, realizing that he had little time before his next class, quickly returned to his room. He had had a grand time, but was left a bit puzzled. Myrtle had never before been that defiant. _Something _had happened. Potter had done something, but what would Potter be doing in the girls' bathroom?

With a start, he remembered the day he had found Potter in the Kitchens, the day he'd first agreed to the lessons in the first place. "Myrtle threw a fit," he'd said.

"I'll find out what's up," he thought to himself, "and the next time Peeves sees Potter, he'll sing an _interesting _song!"

XXX

"- In short, they are attempting to overthrow the Dark Lord and set up a triumvirate," said Narcissa.

Rabastan choked. "They're _what?_"

"Attempting to overthrow the Dark Lord," she repeated. "But I've seen _more _than that."

"More?"

She smirked and sipped her coffee. "Mirrors are handy things. It wasn't long after I overheard him first plot with Antonin to poison Severus, for fear he become too powerful, and then he tried to convince Severus that Antonin was too dangerous."

"What happened?" Rabastan asked

"Well," she said, "Antonin is scared of him, so he's agreed to go along with it, but Severus saw right through Lucius, and threatened him."

"Lucius threatened?" repeated Rabastan, not believing his ears. "How did he react?"

She smirked. "He was at a loss for words, really."

"Wish I'd been there," he said.

"My original plan was to let Severus know about the plot," she said. "So I wrote him a letter, expecting him to challenge Lucius. We all know who's the better duelist, and I had hoped… but either he did not believe my note, or he has decided not to act on it."

"Knowing Severus he's probably taking every Antidote in existence and considers himself invulnerable," mused Rabastan. "But Severus… Severus always gets out alive. He knows what he's doing. I'm sure he only accepted Lucius' plan to find away to break it from the inside."

Narcissa nodded. "Severus was always that way," she said. "Worked from the inside out. Still does. Did you know Dumbledore considers him a confidant? Brilliant man, brilliant mind."

"You realize what their plan is, though," said Rabastan. "You said they were trying to sabotage the project. They're going to drop it in my lap. I'll be blamed for the failure. I knew they were up to something, but…"

"You didn't expect your friend to stab you in the back," she said. After giving him a long considering glance, she added, "I propose we work together."

"You have a plan?"

She smiled a particularly evil smile. "I have more than one reason to work against my husband. As soon as Draco reaches his eighteenth birthday…"

He understood at once. "You'll inherit if Lucius dies while your son is still a minor."

She nodded. "You realize what that means? I'll be head of the both the Black and Malfoy Houses. I'll have more power than most women can contemplate."

He shook his head. "Fugitive or not, Sirius Black is still Head, being the oldest male heir."

She shook her head. "His name disappeared from the family book. He is dead. I am the oldest of my sisters. I am the Head of the House of Black - and I intent to have the Malfoy House as well."

He smiled slowly. "I do believe that could be arranged."

"What do you have in mind?"

"We reveal to the Dark Lord that Lucius has been hiding Karkaroff from him," said Rabastan.

"And have ourselves killed for presuming the Dark Lord lied to us about his death? Surely not," said Narcissa. "I do plan on living to enjoy my inheritance."

"Better said, we'll have it inadvertently … slip," said Rabastan.

"No," snapped Narcissa. "I happen to _like _Snape, and unfortunately, Snape happens to _like _his cousin. Nobody must know Karkaroff lives."

Rabastan winked at her. "You're not planning on grabbing the Snape line as well."

She smiled slowly. "I might."

"I see," he said, "You won't hurt Karkaroff. You won't hurt Snape. I trust you'll still hurt your husband."

She looked over the pages again. "You realize that these figures won't be correct," she said. "Their plan _is _to sabotage the project. I have influence with our Lord. I can have him remove you from the team, and replace you with my husband. All it would take is a few words in the right direction."

"I don't understand," he said. "Their plan will still go forward."

"Yes," she said, eyes glittering, "but when it fails, they won't have you to blame."

"You're hoping he'll be killed when the boy survives the attack?" asked Rabastan.

Narcissa nodded.

Rabastan considered it. "I'm sure, though, that Dolohov is only going along under duress. There must be some way…"

"We have time to think," said Narcissa. "They need time to find a way to have the project go forward with their intended outcome without the Dark Lord realizing their deceit. Dolohov needs to find a way to avoid his share of the blame. They still need to retrieve a personal object of the boy's to infuse with the spell. Frankly, it is going to take them some time."

Rabastan nodded slowly. "I see," he said. "It has been … enlightening to talk with you."

She smirked. "I shall write if I find out any more," she said. "We must wait, and watch. And when the time comes, we may strike."

Rabastan nodded, dropped three sickles on the table, and walked her to the door. "And I shall write if I hear something. Good day to you, Lady … Black."

They parted ways, immediately lost in the crowd.

Florean wiped off the bar with a thoughtful look on his face. Silencing charms were so _easy _to reverse.


	47. The Triple Serpent

**The Triple Serpent**

Dumbledore was humming to himself as he shuffled down a fourth floor corridor on the way to the library when he met Severus coming towards him.

"Headmaster," said Severus. "I have been looking for you for quite some time."

"Really, my boy?" asked Dumbledore. "On one of the few hours I'm not sitting in my office, too. What is it?"

Severus held up a hand to stop him. "Not in the hallway."

Dumbledore nodded and they changed course, heading to Severus' laboratory. Once there, Dumbledore looked askance at him, waiting for an explanation.

Severus shut the door, leaned against it, and said, "I've been invited to dinner with Lucius Malfoy. You remember his wife sent me a letter…"

Dumbledore nodded. "Yes, yes. She said he was trying to poison you."

"And I've reason to believe she was absolutely right," said Snape. "I have already taken an antidote. I'm not _sure _he will try it tonight, but I've finished the work he wanted and he may not have any more use for me. If I don't come back-"

"Severus," interrupted Albus, "for Merlin's sake-"

"-_don't _interrupt me!" snarled Snape. "I haven't much time. I'm expected at six. I _have _taken an antidote, but _if _he should try anything further, _if _I am incapacitated, _if _I do not return or give word by nine, you will find everything you need in the third desk drawer on the left side. Good night."

Severus turned to go, but Albus got up and grabbed his arm. Severus stopped dead and turned his head to glare at the hand detaining him.

"Severus," said Albus urgently. "Wait just a moment."

Severus was indecisive for a fraction of a second before he gave in. Dumbledore let go of his arm. "Listen, Severus," he said quickly, "I have… for years I have… I …"

Severus jerked his head in impatience.

"I've been unfair to you," finished Dumbledore rapidly. "I have done the same with Mr. Potter. I believed that I had to keep my distance from you, to save you danger. I… I knew that if it were known that we were on good terms you would be suspected and I couldn't bear the thought of your being hurt.

"It was safer, so much safer, if you didn't believe I trusted you, if you were on your guard against me, if I did not allow myself to care for you. But something somebody told me made me realize that it isn't fair of me to make decisions for other people.

"People make mistakes and this is my greatest. I realize that now. I realize that if… if I had lost you last night… You would have died believing that I distrusted you.

"I have no right to treat you the way I have. I can only say that I did it to keep you safe. I ask you to understand and… I beg your forgiveness."

Severus blinked at the man in front of him. For a moment he was nonplussed, having no idea how to react. Disbelief flooded his mind, followed by confusion, and finally anger.

"How _dare _you," he whispered dangerously, abandoning the door to step forward. "How _dare _you! _You_ sent me to spy, Albus! You _demanded _it of me in the first war. Is that the action of a man who only wants to keep me safe?"

Dumbledore's expression changed from pleading to pained, but Severus took no notice, spitting out acidly, "I have been in a constant state of jeopardy, only made worse by my work for _your_ cause. You _knew _the Dark Lord had ordered me to become close to you.

"Did you think the Dark Lord just sat about, waiting for us to report? No. The Dark Lord has hundreds of Death Eaters - and we wear our masks not only to hide from the enemy, but also to hide from _each other_. You know that I can only tell you the names of those closest to me in the circle. There are _hundreds_ whose identity is as much of a mystery to me as mine is to them. Every Death Eater is a spy, Albus.

"The Dark Lord is like a spider, with a web so delicate and at the same time so invincible. It's made up of us, his faithful. And we ensnare not only the enemy, but also one another.

"A Death Eater cannot hide from his Lord. One never knows when another is watching, or if one is watching another.

"You knew I was ordered to become close to you. That the Dark Lord expects me to learn your plans, hear your secrets?"

Slowly, Albus nodded, dreading what Severus would say next. He knew that Severus was the most angry, not when he shouted, but when he whispered.

"Every child in this school believes that your trust in me hangs by a hair," hissed Severus. "What do you think the Death Eaters believe? _Have you ever experienced Crucio, Albus_?"

Dumbledore sank into a chair, stricken.

"Have you _any _idea what you've put in danger?" Severus went on mercilessly, his voice gaining volume. "It's not just my life. It's your _entire Order._ One slip of my tongue after a curse too many and I could very well spill our every secret. I tread on dangerous ground. I can fall at any second, any infantile thing could give me away.

"I _need _to know everything, so that I do not carelessly betray anything," Snape shouted. "You _cannot _play games with me, Albus Dumbledore!"

A ringing silence fell. Severus took a deep breath and looked at the man sitting in front of me. He was struck by the unfamiliar emotion of pity, as he saw the most feared and loved man in the Wizarding World writhe in a fit of guilt.

"You've reminded me often that those who set traps often fall into them," said Severus softly. "Among my associates it is said that those who try to protect others often stab them in the back."

Dumbledore said nothing, staring at Severus.

"It's a delicate dance, saving people," said Severus. "I tried to save Regulus Black, warning him of the dangers involved in the Dark Lord's service. He was killed for acting on my warnings. Sirius Black tried to save the Potter family and inadvertently handed them over to the Dark Lord. Harry Potter tried to save Sirius Black and got him killed."

"Enough, Severus," said Dumbledore finally. "Enough."

Severus turned away from the Headmaster, crossing his arms. "I'm sorry, Albus."

"You've no cause to be," said Dumbledore, rising with slight difficulty. "You are cruel, but to be kind. You are… a great man, Severus Snape."

Severus turned back slowly, eyes narrowing.

Dumbledore spread his hands in a gesture of hopelessness. "All my life, I have watched the world spiral into wickedness and felt that only I stood in the way. The first time with Grindelwald I was forced. I was given the ability to stop him; I had to do what others could not.

"When he had fallen, our world was so quiet. So peaceful. I felt, still do feel, that as I had brought about that peace, it was my duty to maintain it. I watched for evil, stamping on it before it grew too large to contain.

"Perhaps it is my fault, Severus. Perhaps I have destroyed the world I set out to protect. Tom Riddle… even as a first year I saw him for what he was - cold and sadistic, cruel beyond what one could believe of a child. Perhaps if I had tried to help him instead of destroy him…"

"What is done is done," said Severus. "I believe it was you who told me that the consequences of any one action were so complex that it was impossible to say conclusively who was at fault for any particular occurrence."

There was a silence, Dumbledore looked at his hands. "You should go," he said finally. "You should not be late."

Severus sighed and retrieved his cloak from where he'd hung it when he'd gone to look for the Headmaster.

"Sir," he said as he fastened the cloak about his throat with Remus' pin. "I believe I am guilty of a similar offense to yours. All my life I have been harsh, cruel, even to those I had no wish to hurt. Unlike you, I have no excuse. I am simply not a nice man."

Albus gave a wry smile. "When have I ever said that I only like nice people?"

Severus shook his head. "You have just told me that you look for evil to stamp out," he said.

Albus' smile grew slightly. "I have learned that Evil is normally hidden behind a seductively polite, proprietary mask. Who's to say that Good doesn't normally do the same?"

Severus, remembering the side effects Igor had warned about, quietly went to the Potions cabinet and selected his most effective Potions against nausea and dizziness. Pocketing them, he made his way to the door without a word.

"Severus," said Dumbledore, stopping him once again.

Snape looked over his shoulder, raising one challenging eyebrow. "Yes?"

"Be careful."

XXX

Kingsley Shacklebolt was bored. He was sitting in his office at the Ministry, having finished his paperwork, but unable to leave until nine. He checked the clock above the door and stifled a sigh; not even six yet.

The job was merely a cover, so that he could perform duties for the Order without exciting suspicion. Unfortunately, there were far fewer missions than workdays and Shakelbolt found himself in the uncomfortable position of having to keep up an incredibly dull charade.

With a sigh he drew out his DocuSearch Parchment. It was quite a handy item. Anything on public record could be accessed through it by simply writing down what or whom one was looking for.

At first he scrawled his own name. He found nothing but his Hogwarts grades. With a sigh, he looked up several of his friends, finding nothing of importance.

On a whim, he wrote down the name of the newest Order member: Philomena Lupin.

The parchment hummed for a moment before the ink spidered across the page spelling out the results.

Kingsley sat up abruptly, staring at the parchment in his hands. "I don't _believe _it!"

Getting to his feet, he left his office, clutching the page in his hand as he made his way to the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Department. He rapped on the door, and stepped into the room as soon as it was opened.

"Arthur," he said. "I need to talk to you."

XXX

Antonin fidgeted with his collar as he sat in the Triple Serpent while waiting for his allies. He was uncomfortable. The Triple Serpent catered to a particularly supercilious crowd, and Dolohov, never having quite fit in with the Pure Blood elite, felt quite out of place.

Snape arrived first, looking almost disappointed in something.

"Good evening, Severus," said Antonin. "You are well?"

Snape nodded and took his seat. "Thank you, yes. Yourself?"

Antonin nodded.

Snape gave a irritated sigh, "Malfoy will be late, as usual."

"I suppose," said Antonin.

"Tell me, Dolohov," said Snape, idly looking through the scroll a waiter had drifted by to hand him. "What do you plan on doing when the three of us rule the world?"

Dolohov coughed and made the impulsive and rather dangerous decision of trusting a man he did not know very well. "I don't think I shall get to that point, Snape."

Snape smirked, glad to be spared the trouble of persuasion. "I don't believe he means either of us to."

Antonin swallowed. "I … do you think he'll…"

"Be utterly ruthless and rid himself of us the moment he no longer needs our help?" finished Snape. "Of course."

"If you think he's going to kill you," snapped Antonin in frustration, "then why in the name of Circe did you agree?"

Snape looked at him with a condescending smile. "Why did _you _agree?"

"I didn't want to be murdered in my sleep," said Antonin defensively.

"People are easier to conquer if you let them believe they are smarter than you are," said Snape. "Malfoy now believes he has us both at his beck and call. He believes he can use us as he wills and then dispose of us when we become too dangerous or inconvenient."

Severus leaned forward and fixed his most intimidating stare on the other man. "You've always allowed him to use you, Dolohov. You even went to Azkaban for his crime to let him keep his record clean."

Dolohov shivered involuntarily.

"Are you cold?" sneered Snape. "Our Lord gave you the Blood Project because he didn't need you for anything else; because he could afford to have you squander hours on something with no guaranty of success.

"Lucius took you into his plan, not because of your family, but because you were working on the project, and he wants to manipulate that for his own ends. He didn't try to use Rabastan, because he knows the man will immediately go to Narcissa."

Dolohov ran a hand through his hair. "What do you want of me, Snape?"

"Do you know," he said lazily, "he even told me that you were getting to be too powerful, he wanted me to believe you were trying take control of the project, to betray us."

"He said the same thing to me about you," said Antonin slowly. "He said you were too powerful. That he would have too…"

Snape grinned nastily. "It is very simple, Dolohov. Haven't you seen it yet? When the Blood Magic fails to kill Potter, indeed, when it turns out to _protect _Potter, our Lord will be less than pleased. Whom do you think will receive the blame?"

Antonin blinked.

"You," hissed Severus. "Have you survived the first war and Azkaban just to be executed by our own Lord for somebody else's plot?"

"It's always been somebody else's plot," mumbled Antonin bitterly.

"There's one way to save yourself," said Snape, laying his final card on the table, "and that is to destroy Malfoy first."

"I can't," protested Antonin. "How would I-"

"You, perhaps not," said Snape. "But _we_."

"But… but… how?" asked Antonin.

Severus lifted a finger to interrupt him. "Careful."

Several tense seconds later, Malfoy strode in through the door, depositing hat and gloves with a waiter he did bother to look at.

XXX

"Hello, Kings," said Arthur, shoving a pile of paperwork off of a chair so that Kingsley could sit. "Something wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, exactly" said Kingsley slowly, handing over the parchment. "I was just too paranoid to see a very simply solution. Take a look at _that_."

Arthur scanned the document. "She was adopted, then," he said. "I don't see what that has to do with anything, or why it would even be any of our business."

Kingsley wetted his lips. "Mad-Eye, Sturgis and I… well, after she came, I'm afraid we jumped to some very stupid conclusions. You see… it's illegal for a Werewolf to have children, and you know how Remus is about rules, especially about not hurting others, or putting them in danger. We just couldn't see how he would…"

"Still none of your business," Arthur pointed out mildly.

"All the same," continued Kingsley, "we thought she couldn't possibly be his, and because he isn't the type to lie without a reason, we thought he was… hiding her for somebody. She was friendly with Snape, and …"

Arthur burst out laughing. "_Snape_? Ye gods, Kings. That man may have joined the Death Eaters, but he would _never _have a child outside of marriage. He just isn't that sort of man. He's too… honorable. It would be beneath his dignity."

Kingsley blinked. "Beneath his dignity," he repeated. "I admit we were stupid. But… it _is _rather odd. According to these records he must have adopted her just about when she was born. And that was while Remus was still in school – which doesn't make any sense either."

Arthur frowned. "It does seem a bit odd," he admitted, "but it's none of our business."

Kingsley made an impatient motion. "If she isn't who he _says _she is, than who _is _she? And if he can lie to us about his children, what _else _could- "

"Now, Kings," said Arthur. "It may look odd, but have you _ever_ known Remus to do something without a reason?"

"No," admitted Kingsley. "But I've also never known him to do anything of this sort. It's not in his character. And the dates on these papers… it doesn't look right. She was born anonymously in some Muggle hospital. Remus adopted her even though he was single, a Werewolf, not quite out of school, with no one to support him and hardly any hope for a steady job considering the war."

"It can't have been legal," said Arthur. "And maybe it was an incredibly irrational thing for him to do considering the circumstances. But there isn't any reason for either of us to go into it at all."

Kingsley looked over the papers again. "There's… wait… Merlin's Beard, it was cleverly done."

"_What _was cleverly done?" asked Arthur.

"Well it really isn't any of our business," teased Kingsley, "but they're Muggle records. They're dated eighteen years ago, but the scroll tallies _exactly _when the records were made. It dates these at _ten _years ago. They're fraudulent."

Arthur sighed. "All right," he said. "So he's filed fraudulent adoption papers with the Muggle government. It's still-"

"-none of our business," finished Kingsley. "But do you know the _oddest _thing about them?"

Arthur shook his head.

"Remus didn't file these."

XXX


	48. In Vino Veritas

**In Vino Veritas**

Malfoy smirked as he seated himself at the table. The waiter drifted by and slipped him a scroll which he did not bother to read. Dolohov took it to look over, slightly miffed that he himself had not received one in spite of the fact that he had signaled the waiter while the other two had not.

"We've a fair bit of planning to do," said Malfoy. "The calculations I sent the Dark Lord were accurate: the best time to do the spell is the twenty fourth of December. Venus will be in Libra, a good omen for spells involving final judgment. More importantly it will be the last new moon of the year, signifying that - "

"We _did _read what you sent, Lucius," interrupted Snape. "I do believe our Lord will wait until then. He will not risk the Spell being at a low effectivity , which gives us considerable time to plan."

"More than a month, yes," said Dolohov, "but you can get found out and killed fairly often in that amount of time –"

"Relax, Dolohov," drawled Malfoy. "Everything has gone according to plan so far."

"We have sabotaged the project effectively," said Snape, "but we have, as yet, no plan for what to do _after _it is put in effect."

"After?" asked Malfoy lightly, as the waiter drifted by again with a bottle of wine and three glasses. "We need to plan the time_ before. _The Dark Lord would consider what we have now only half done! We need to plan how to infiltrate Hogwarts, how to get the boy in contact with the Charm, how to-"

"That is simple," interrupted Snape, opening the bottle and pouring. "I could easily obtain some item of the boy's to infuse with the spell. Then it is merely a matter of casting the activation charm at the appropriate time. What really needs to be planned is the aftermath. The Dark Lord will be exceedingly angered when the project fails to kill the boy as promised. He's going to punish _somebody._"

Dolohov snatched up his glass and took a deeper sip than what might be generally considered polite, to steady his nerves. He was not by nature a brave man but considered potvaliance better than none.

Malfoy blinked. "That is not important," he said smoothly. "I intend it to be a dual attack, you see. The Dark Lord must remove Dumbledore, before we can make our move for European domination. His ire at failing to remove Potter would then be alleviated by the Headmaster's defeat with perhaps a half a dozen student casualties."

Severus hid his disgust, adding, "Lucius, I hate to disappoint you but there are rarely that many students _at _Hogwarts during the Holidays and the Dark Lord never forgets incompetence."

"We'll take that Portkey when we get to it," said Lucius, cavalierly sipping of his wine.

Severus grinned maliciously and shot a pointed look at Dolohov, who gave a nervous twitch and took another gulp of the wine. Malfoy ignored the nonverbal exchange, paying attention to the waiter who, ever so discreetly, winked in his direction behind the backs of Lucius' companions. Malfoy smirked.

"A full scale attack, though," said Dolohov, trying to retain his composure, clutching at his glass, "The Dark Lord wouldn't want _us _to plan something like that. Especially if the plan is supposedly only mine and Rabastan's. He would hate the thought of not having come up with it himself…"

Snape grimaced. "It will be a delicate operation," he said. "I say we wait until he Calls us next. Present what we've given to Rabastan, but say you believe it needs refinement by those more talented than you. Then, either he takes it over himself when he sees its supposed potential, or he delegates the responsibility."

"It's too much of a chance," protested Malfoy. "He could give it to _anybody._"

"Precisely," said Snape. "If either of us receive the project, we can suggest your plan, hoping for the best. If he keeps it for his own use, then we watch, we wait, and we think up some way to save Dolohov and Rabastan from the wrong end of a Killing Curse. If, however, he gives the project to some third party, then so much the better. They receive the blame when it fails."

"But we must guarantee Dumbledore's fall!" said Lucius. "This needs to move quickly. We can't protect Potter very long, and we can't allow Potter to destroy the Dark Lord before the Dark Lord has put us in a position to control Britain at the very least."

Snape blinked. "The Dark Lord may be insane, Lucius, but he isn't stupid. He will most definitely _think _before he acts, he will realize that two of his targets will be sitting, unsuspecting, on Christmas Eve, for him to strike. He won't pass up such an opportunity – and he certainly won't need you to point it out to him."

The menus melted into a cloud of blue vapor that drifted in a swirl to the kitchens, sensing that each man had made up his mind. Barely enough time for a Muggle cook to reach for the proper pan, the waiter slipped towards their table as two hazy bowls of soup appeared before Lucius and Antonin, slowly solidifying into reality. The waiter cast a quick charm, ensuring appropriate silverware.

"Forgoing the crème de potiron?" asked Malfoy.

"Saying it in French doesn't make it more appealing," said Snape. "I never did care for pumpkin in any form."

"You mean you don't enjoy eating," said Malfoy. "It's a sacrilege the way you consider good food to be simply nourishment. You've no manners, no polish, no joi d'vivre- "

"Spare me that," snapped Snape. "Goodness knows we've more to talk about than your epicurean dreams."

"This is a reality," said Malfoy. "A touch of culinary excellence. An experience for the taste buds to rival-."

"It's pumpkin soup," said Dolohov shortly. His glass replenished itself for the fourth time, as the wine level of the bottle on the other side of the table sank.

"Neither of you have any comportment," sniffed Malfoy. "I'm astounded they haven't yet cast you out for your inability to appreciate the culinary art."

"I suppose," said Snape dryly, "that they've stayed their hand at throwing me out so that they can poison me instead."

Malfoy started almost imperceptibly.

"A fitting punishment for an offender of the Food God," joked Dolohov. "Who _is _the god of food?"

Snape raised an eyebrow at Dolohov. "The wine has gone to your head."

Dolohov blinked at his glass. "I haven't drunk half of it."

"It's charmed," said Malfoy, as if it were obvious.

"Bacchus," said Dolohov. "That's it. We eat and drink to Bacchus!"

Malfoy smirked. "As long as it doesn't come to smoking to Bacchus. Seems to cause a might of trouble for the Muggles."

Severus' second eyebrow joined the first. "And he expects to conquer the world."

"It was funny," protested Malfoy.

"If that is your idea of wit, I'm surprised you ever got through Hogwarts," said Snape.

"I don't get it," complained Dolohov. "What's funny?"

"Nothing," said Snape shortly. "You are both making terrible fools of yourselves. The staff might cancel the privacy charms just to be able to listen to your stupidity."

Malfoy sighed. "Always so formal, Severus," he said.

"You were the one accusing me a moment ago of having no polish," Snape reminded, drawing his wand. "Sobrietus."

Dolohov slumped back in his chair, blinked and clutched his head.

"So sorry," said Severus, "but you really ought to have realized before now that the best time to take leave of ones ability to think is not during a conversation about world domination."

A cup of black coffee swirled into existence by Dolohov's soup.

"A triumvirate," said Severus, shaking his head, "consisting of a fop, a sot, and a Potions Master. How quaint."

"I'm not a sot," protested Dolohov with very little fervor.

Malfoy smirked, inwardly reminding himself that as soon as Snape had actually touched his wine the man would die.

XXX

Arthur abandoned all pretense of being uninterested, and grabbed the parchment from Kingsley to look the documents over for himself.

"The automatic filing system works by assigning a number from anybody who files a document," he said, "as well as that of the parties involved. Remus' and the filer's don't match."

"Somebody extremely powerful or very well connected did this," said Arthur. "They obviously took extraordinary pains to forge this as a Muggle document. The filer even obscured his or her magical signature."

Kingsley frowned in thought. "It takes a lot to obscure a magical signature. Whoever did it was desperate to hide something."

"But _what?_" asked Arthur. "I don't understand it. I've known Remus for quite some time and I _know _he hasn't had her in his care for that long. I knew when he brought her in the first time that he couldn't have had her for more than a month. He couldn't have hidden something of that magnitude."

"_Somebody_ went very far to," Kingsley pointed out. "Personally, I can't help but think he's gotten himself in over his head. He's hiding her for somebody."

"But the forgery is ten years old!" protested Arthur. "It can't have been going on for ten years!"

"Maybe she just hasn't been living with him for all that time," said Kingsley. "They could have made the agreement that he take custody in the event of an emergency."

"But why pretend it took place at birth?" asked Arthur. "Unless it was somebody who had to hide the child for some reason. Some friend of his in trouble. An unmarried woman, or somebody in danger, or…"

Kingsley shook his head. "I hate to be cruel, but how many close friends does Remus have? He had the Potters, Sirius, the Prewetts, then you and the rest of the Order. He very rarely gets close to anybody."

Arthur frowned. "It's possible Sirius had… but they couldn't hide a thing like that. The Blacks would have a family record to be sure about their line, after all, ensuring that the information on the tapestry was accurate."

"It has to be one of us he's hiding her for," said Kingsley. "Somebody he trusts."

"There's no _reason _for any of us to hide a child!" protested Arthur.

Shacklebolt narrowed his eyebrows, considering. "Unless she were in terrible danger," he said. "Unless… unless they were afraid of losing her if she were known…"

"None of us could have had a child or is the type to…" began Arthur.

His friend grinned slowly at him.

"No," said Arthur. "I don't care _how _logical it looks right now, it just can't be who I think you think it is."

"Who else would it be?" said Kingsley. "Snape has the power for this kind of deception. He's the only one of us who'd have been able to think it up in the first place. He has a hold on Remus – had one even back then – could have threatened to expose his lycanthropy. That doesn't matter now, but Remus would think the papers were legal…"

Arthur shook his head violently. "I'm telling you that Snape isn't the type," he said again. "Snape is violently protective of the people he considers worth it, but he's a proud man. He doesn't hide what he is. If he didn't hide his Dark Mark from the Minister of Magic, do you think he'd hide a family from the world?"

"If he was afraid for her safety during the war," began Kingsley, "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named would have used her to manipulate him –"

"IThe war was _over _ten years ago!" Arthur took a deep breath to control himself. "I know I sound like a broken record by now – Muggle thing, means I'm repeating myself – but no matter how strange or interesting it is, it really isn't our business. Remus can take care of himself, Kingsley. If he is in trouble, if he has somehow been coerced into this, then he will ask for help if he needs it. Otherwise, he's gone into this willingly; we've no reason to interfere."

"But-"

"I'm serious, Kings," said Arthur. "Remus, in spite of the way we all feel we need to watch out and care for him, is an extremely capable man. Not only that, he is an extremely _private_ man. You didn't see it, but when Hestia and Vance asked him about her… Let it rest."

Kingsley didn't look convinced.

"Promise me," insisted Mr. Weasley, "that you'll let it drop. That you won't mention it to him."

"I won't mention it to him," said Kingsley.

Arthur nodded and seemed to suddenly remember where he was. "Well then, I had better get back to work."

"Thanks, Arthur," said Shacklebolt. "Good night."

As he left he office, Shacklebolt smirked to himself. He had only promised he wouldn't mention it to _Remus. _

XXX

Snape glided his forefinger up and down the stem of his glass in what looked like an unconscious gesture but was quite deliberate. He considered it to his advantage if his enemies though him preoccupied. It seemed to be working; Malfoy's eyes kept straying to Severus' hand.

"A good year," said Malfoy to Dolohov. "A bit dry, but well rounded."

Dolohov nodded.

Snape started as though brought out of deep thought, though he hadn't been. "As good as any," he said.

"You haven't tasted it," said Dolohov pointedly.

"You," returned Snape, "have tasted quite enough for the both of us."

"Are you not feeling well?" asked Malfoy with false concern, as the empty bowls of soup faded into nothingness. "You haven't touched a thing."

Snape suppressed a smirk. Malfoy had just missed an ideal time to kill him and would probably be furious if he knew. "I've been feeling a bit off color," he said casually. "Nothing to worry about."

"If you don't mind my saying so," said Dolohov, "you look rather worn out. You really ought to eat."

Snape smiled lazily. "But of course. I simply do not drink on an empty stomach."

Malfoy gave an impatient frown. The waiter removed the empty wine bottle and replaced it with a smooth practiced motion, not breaking his gliding stride. Dolohov's glass burbled, refilling itself, as it was the only empty one on the table. He automatically sipped at it.

"Don't overdo it," admonished Snape. "We'd hate to have more terrible puns about bad Muggle habits."

Antonin gave a week grin. "What about the school?" he asked. "I mean, after Dumbledore's gone. Somebody will have to run the school."

"Run it?" asked Lucius with an amused smirk. "We're destroying it. It won't _need _to be run."

"I doubt that is wise," said Snape. "You do realize that once the school is destroyed that the children will need somewhere to _go. _They'll be a hindrance. Especially for those of us who have their own."

Antonin sipped carefully, eyeing the bottle as though daring it to try and refill his glass again.

"The children aren't the issue," said Malfoy. "Their parents are."

"I thought children were the issue _of _their parents," said Snape blandly, watching the main course materialize on the table.

"And you dared criticize when I made a joke," Malfoy sighed.

Snape shrugged. "I've been corrupted by the present company."

Dolohov glared morosely at his chosen meal of breaded plaice and gave it a jab with his fork.

"Their parents," repeated Malfoy, "need to be frightened into obedience or at least inaction. The best way to control a parent is to threaten a child."

"But the best way to guarantee their ire is to hurt their child," returned Snape. "Dumbledore may fall, but the school must remain. A false sense of security for the parents, if you will, while one of us shall run the school and guide their minds. Not to mention the fact that if the school is shut, so will every school in the nation, causing a huge problem."

"It's debatable," said Malfoy, "I'm not sure…"

Malfoy stopped speaking abruptly, as Snape at last sipped his wine. Snape gave a slight frown, stared at his glass, and took another sip.

"I agree it is a good wine," he said, "but it's odd…"

"What's odd?" asked Dolohov, his eyes darting between Malfoy and Snape. "Is something wrong?"

"It's got a curious aftertaste," said Snape, setting his glass down. "Of raspberries."

"I didn't notice," said Dolohov.

"Of course you didn't," said Malfoy, his voice slightly higher than normal. "You were drinking it like a fish!"

"Fish don't drink," protested Dolohov.

Severus gave the slightest smile. The raspberry taste was Karkaroff's signature; his cousin had seen fit to warn him. Knowing what was coming, the small vials in his pocket offered comfort against the side effects he had been warned would manifest.

For a long moment, the conversation stilled as they concentrated on food. Malfoy carefully watched Snape's glass, growing more and more alarmed as the wine grew less and less.

Dolohov ate, drank, and tried very hard to forget whom he was with.

Slowly, Severus became dizzy. He blinked as the room began to sway slightly. Dropping his fork he reached into his pocket and drew out his first vial, emptying it into his remaining wine, while wandlessly casting a Charm to be sure they did not mix or interact with each other.

"To lower the alcohol content," he lied in answer to the unasked questions of his companions. "It is quite strong."

Malfoy bit his lip. The poison was supposed to have made him die within seconds. It was also supposed to taste of nothing, and his own wine had had no aftertaste.

"It's not that high," said Dolohov, "probably about fifteen or sixteen percent."

"I'm sure you can estimate it fairly accurately," snapped Malfoy.

Antonin winced.

"You wife wrote to me recently," said Snape on a whim. "Was quite anxious about her son, you know. Whether the school was safe and what-not."

Lucius blinked, caught off guard. "Well," he said sourly, glaring at Severus' wine. "I suppose she's merely hoping something will happen to him before his birthday so that she can inherit the Manor."

Severus congratulated himself mentally for having guessed correctly. "You're not serious," he said. "Considering the way she coddles him I was sure she was far too attached to sacrifice him for something so petty as your estate."

"Petty?" repeated Lucius. "_My _estate?"

"Sour grapes," muttered Dolohov under his breath.

"You're quite right, Antonin," said Snape. "I have no estate, but that is entirely beside the point. You seriously think your wife would hurt your son to get your estate?"

Lucius nodded. "Of course. Wouldn't you?"

"I won't get your estate if I hurt your son," said Snape sardonically.

"You know what I meant," said Lucius peevishly. "It makes no difference either way, however. If she hurts Draco, I'll be able to divorce her on very good grounds."

"What about the Malfoy line?" asked Dolohov. "Aren't you at least worried she'll-"

"- cut off the last remaining scion?" finished Lucius. "Of course not. I never should have married Narcissa in the first place. She's _far _too closely related. Draco is not at all what I would have hoped. If, for instance, I could persuade the Putherls…"

Severus, having finished his glass of poison and cure, said, "The Putherls? Haven't they a blood traitor in the line?"

"Hasn't everybody?" Malfoy commented carelessly. "It is no matter, however, considering Narcissa hasn't done anything."

Severus' plate, only half eaten, dissolved into mist and disappeared.

"Lost your appetite?" asked Dolohov.

"No," said Snape carelessly getting to his feet. "I simply must be back. I'm promised elsewhere."

"But-" protested Malfoy, at a loss, "you didn't-"

"Yes, I am sorry I could not finish the discussion with you," said Snape. "I should have warned you our meeting could be cut short. Good evening to you both."

With a curt nod, Snape turned to go.

"Good night," said Dolohov.

"Good night," repeated Malfoy automatically, watching Severus billow out the door without so much as a stagger. "Damnit."

"What's wrong?" asked Antonin.

"Nothing to worry about," assured Lucius. "Either I've been double crossed or the man has a stomach lined with bezoars."


	49. Choose Your Poison

**Choose Your Poison**

Philomena opened the door to let in Severus Snape. He was leaning weakly against the doorjamb, protectively cradling his stomach with one hand.

"Is your father in?"

She nodded, motioning him inside. "Yes, stuck in a book all yesterday," she said. "I don't think he even realized it was Halloween."

"He had better be reading it," said Severus tightly, letting go of the doorframe, staggering to the nearest chair and doubling over in it. "Went through enough for it."

"Mr. Snape!" She was fussing over him in an instant. "Are you all right? You're about to faint, here let me –"

Philomena reached to loosen his collar. With a sudden snarl he grabbed her hand and wrenched it behind her back. "You do not _touch _me," he whispered dangerously.

She gave a shocked whimper. Snape came back to himself and released her. "I'm … sorry," he said, hunching over again. "I …"

"Snape," said Remus from the doorway. "I don't mean to intrude, but what the bloody hell?"

Snape didn't answer, didn't even look up, but clutched one hand to his throat, breathing hard.

"He… I think I…" stuttered Philomena. "He doesn't look well, I was only trying to help, and …"

"She tried to loosen my collar," said Snape in a strangled voice. "I overreacted. I'm sorry, it's no excuse, but I've been poisoned repeatedly in the last couple of hours and my nerves are frazzled…"

Never had Remus seen Snape so undone, so off his guard. Carefully keeping the mental cage about Moony, he stepped forward.

"Do I need to go for Albus?" he asked. "A Healer?"

Snape shook his head rapidly, falling back in the chair. "Came here because… didn't want him to know," he said. "Given him enough worry, nearly died last night, but … I'm all right now, took the Antidote, should only take a while for this to… pass…"

Remus exchanged a look a quick look with his daughter. With a nod, she left the room at once.

"Snape," said Remus quietly. "I need to understand to help you. You said you took an antidote. Will you be needing more? Are you out of terminal danger? Do you need something for the symptoms?"

Snape shook his head, and Remus winced inwardly. Snape looked simply terrible; a fine sheen of perspiration covered his grimacing face, which was even paler than normal.

"It was the wine, damnit," whispered Snape. "It's slowed the effect of… the Ashwinder eggs… it… I… the nausea should pass. The dizziness will be… on and off for… a while yet. If I'd only … brewed it myself… but there wasn't time and I knew they wouldn't wait to kill me… Could've waited 'till Christmas."

"You'll faint if you don't loosen that," said Remus. "Is there a reason you didn't let her?"

"I've a reason for everything," Severus snapped weakly. "Don't…"

"It's all right," soothed Remus. "I won't. I just… look, Snape, I'm not a healer, and I've not a clue what to do, but – you shan't die under my roof. I won't let you."

Philomena returned with a shallow bowl covered in cloth cradled in both hands and a long thin bottle under one arm. She set the items carefully on the floor next to Snape, then shot a questioning look at her father who gestured at her to wait.

"I just… need to wait it out," whispered Snape. "I'm sorry for… for imposing, but I… couldn't go back to Hogwarts. Albus knows I'm not well, and…"

Philomena wetted the cloth thoroughly in the bowl, wrung it out and folded it into thirds. Stepping behind Snape's chair, she reached to dab his face with it. He swatted weakly at her, but Remus stopped his hand. She laid the cloth over his forehead and held it at his temples. "Consanesce," she whispered.

Severus shivered before losing consciousness.

"Substantia consopire," said Philomena to Remus, as though that explained everything. "He needs to sleep."

Remus bit his lip. "All very well and good," he said, as she dropped the cloth back into the bowl, "but he said something's already interfered with the antidote, and… that he wasn't well. He nearly died yesterday. That is quite a risk to take. You should have asked before you acted."

Philomena sighed. "It's a neutral Potion," she said. "It's purely psychological, wouldn't interfere with whatever physical effects the other had. It'd relax him enough to sleep. Convince him nothing was wrong."

Remus nodded slowly. "I hope you're right," he said. "I've never seen him so … unraveled."

She frowned in thought, getting a glass and pouring one finger of what she'd brought in the bottle. "I suppose he came here because he knew he could collapse safely," she said.

"Did he hurt you," asked Remus.

She shook her head, setting the glass on the arm of Severus' chair. "And even if he had, he was startled. I'd be snappish too if I'd just been poisoned."

"You think a Malacia will do him any good?" asked Remus, eyeing the glass.

She shrugged. "He can take it if he's still nauseous when he wakes," she said. "Let's give him a few minutes."

Snape let out a low moan and shifted in his chair.

Remus shook his head. "Wish I knew what he was thinking," he said.

"Careful what you wish for," she admonished. "You might get it."

Remus sighed. "He does too much."

"You're one to talk," she smirked. "You've plastered yourself to that book."

"It's not Order business," he protested. "That's for myself."

She nodded, looking only half convinced. "He said, when he came in, that you had better be reading it. That doesn't sound very much like something for yourself."

"It was his solution for the problem with Moony," admitted Remus. "It's working quite well."

"I noticed you didn't murder him when he grabbed my arm," she said mildly. "How does it work?"

"Shields my mind," he said. "It's meant as a protection from outside penetration, but it seems to work just as well at guarding my own mind from hers."

"Can people do that?" she asked. "Read your mind, I mean?"

Remus sighed. "I'd have said 'yes,' before I'd read the book," he said ruefully. "Apparently, minds are far more complicated than any of us ever though – still not half understood."

She smirked. "I think that if our brains were simple enough to understand, we'd be too stupid to."

He blinked, working out what she'd said, before throwing his head back and laughing.

"It wasn't _that _funny," she said when he'd subsided.

"I know," he said, "but in times like these we take every last laugh we can get."

She giggled. "I've a hard time imagining the Death Eaters cracking jokes over pumpkin soup."

"You'd be surprised," came Severus' deep, sleepy voice from the chair.

"You're awake," blinked Remus.

"So it would seem," grumbled Snape.

"But you can't wake up from a Substantia consopire induced sleep that quickly," protested Philomena.

"I've been practicing Occlumency since before you were born," said Snape. "It doesn't have any effect on me. Your Consanesce however, was most welcome."

"So you just decided to eavesdrop, did you?" asked Remus.

"When have I not when given an opportunity?" shrugged Snape. "I apologize. It's an instinct I find hard to repress at the best of times, and I've just deliberately exposed myself to a high level toxin."

"Deliberately?" asked Remus. "What's happened?"

Severus sighed. "I knew they would try to kill me, but I wasn't sure when. They're planning a terrible strike against our side. They are, however, also plotting against their Lord and that's what matters at the moment. I needed a hold against them to make them work my way, and my attempted murder is as good as anything."

"I see," said Remus. "Are you going to be all right?"

"In a minute or two," Severus said, downing the glass Philomena had poured for him. "It wouldn't have been so bad if he hadn't put it in the wine. Sadistic little _beast _he is. He would have me die while enjoying a glass of 1884 Cadmia."

"You knew it was poisoned and you _drank _it?" said Philomena. "Are you _mad?" _

"Yes, and yes," said Snape sardonically. "Speaking of which, I simply _must _send an Owl to Dumbledore before he tries to put my will in order."

Remus blanched. "You seriously thought there was a possibility of dying and you didn't…?"

Severus gave a halfhearted exasperated glare. "There is _always _a possibility of dying in my line of work."

"Yes, but –" protested Philomena.

"I'd think you'd be better acquainted with the concept of heroic self-sacrifice," snarled Snape.

"Gryffindors, while reckless with their own lives rarely understand the same inclination in others," said Remus.

"I am _not _a Gryffindor," said Philomena. "I never _went _to the school."

"She wouldn't be a Gryffindor," said Snape. "She's too good an actress."

"A good actress?" asked Philomena, flattered. "Whatever makes you say that?"

"You pretended to be twelve for several years," said Severus, and to bring his point home, he put on a falsetto impression of her voice before she'd aged, saying, "Is magic really hard? It had to be really hard if Uncle Ralf couldn't do it."

Neither Remus nor Philomena could stop themselves from bursting out into hysterical laugher at his impersonation.

"Of course," Snape went on in his normal voice, "one could tell you weren't twelve just because you were acting like six."

"You were _listening _that night," said Remus, realizing that Severus would have to have eavesdropped to know of the conversation he'd quoted.

"Of course I was," said Snape simply. "Do you think I had time to listen to that idiotic Muggle's theories about what the girl was?"

Remus frowned. "What _did _he say?"

Snape shrugged. "He apparently realized you hadn't aged, and you remained seemingly the same as far as intelligence was concerned."

"I hated having to look stupid," Philomena interrupted.

"Gordon apparently came to the conclusion that you were part of a cloning project," finished Snape.

"Cloning?" asked Remus. "Isn't that that Muggle thing where they make copies of you?"

"They haven't quite managed it yet, thank goodness," said Snape. "But yes, that's what the man thought. Tried to convince me that she wasn't really her, just copy number six or so, and that Ralf had to hide her before the authorities found out."

"You knew all that and you didn't _tell _me?" demanded Remus.

"Really, Lupin, think about it," said Snape. "I had no idea whether they were simply insane ramblings or actually had some relevance. She had also apparently been given birth to by a wolf; it was conceivable that she'd aged abnormally. I simply thought it wasn't worth the bother of telling you before I had more information."

"My childhood was normal aside form Ralf's magical interference," snapped Philomena. "What did you think? That I was born a puppy or something?"

"Shut up," mumbled Remus almost inaudibly, rubbing a hand over his face.

"At least Uncle Igor had the sense to _ask _when he was bothered by something," Philomena went on. "I may be slightly abnormal, but… that's the stupidest idea I've ever heard."

"All that aside," said Remus quickly, "are you in need of more Malacia, Severus? Should I make tea?"

"Father thinks problems should be solved with tea or chocolate," said Philomena ruefully. "Never seen him try with Potions before."

"Your father is completely inept with Potions," said Snape mildly. "It's one of his many defects."

"Yours being your inability to inform people of valuable information," said Remus. "Honestly, if I'd sooner that her age was off –"

"If you'd been better at simple maths," interrupted Snape.

"_If _I'd known sooner," repeated Remus, "I'd have tried to fix it sooner, and…"

"Oh stop it the both of you," snapped Philomena. "You're behaving like schoolboys."

"How many schoolboys have you actually met?" asked Snape.

Philomena went brick red. "Shut up," she snapped, whirling to leave the room. "I'm going to make tea."

Remus smothered his laughter until she was out of hearing range.

Snape raised an eyebrow. "She takes after you."

Remus shook his head, "And my mother, a very bad combination."

Severus grimaced and lurched forward. Remus immediately refilled his glass and handed it to him. The other man grabbed it and clutched it for a moment, taking a racking breath before gulping it down.

"Are you all right?"

"Will you _stop _asking that?" Severus said vehemently. He held his glass loosely over the arm of the chair, while massaging his temple with his free hand. "I've been poisoned – of course I'm not all right. _Damn _him!"

"Malfoy?" asked Remus.

"Igor!" snapped Snape. "He can't even brew a decent antidote."

"Igor who?" asked Remus.

"Your … brother in law," said Severus. "Her uncle. Karkaroff."

Remus sat down. "Karkaroff? But he's _dead._"

"If you believe everything the Dark Lord tells you, Lupin…"

"_You _told us that," protested Remus.

"I told you that the Dark Lord told me that," corrected Snape. "He lied."

"You could have _said _so," said Remus.

"That would require me actually knowing it," explained Snape. "I didn't until a short while ago. Telling anybody now would be terribly unwise, considering his current position. He'd be found killed tomorrow if the Dark Lord so much as suspected."

"If he hasn't killed him yet, then why…?"

"Because it would prove he'd deliberately lied to hide his failure," answered Severus, "and if there's anything the Dark Lord hates it's being made a fool of."

"Her uncle is Igor Karkaroff?" Remus asked, apparently not able to wrap his mind about the idea. "The Headmaster of Durmstrang? The Death Eater?"

"Former on both counts," said Snape almost lazily. "Yes, that's precisely what I mean."

"Why didn't you _tell _me?"

Severus sighed. "You seem to ask that often."

"Because you don't seem to answer that often," countered Remus.

"He said he'd write you a letter. I assumed you would have received one by now," said Snape. "I've been rather busy trying not to die lately; it slipped my mind."

"Sorry," said Remus sheepishly. "I think I tend to think of you as some sort of omnipotent being who manages to get everything done without the slightest of effort. I mean, no offense, but you teach, you spy, you brew, and you still somehow manage to have time to help a Werewolf hide his transgressions."

"I haven't a very large social calendar to get in the way," sighed Snape.

"I have finished the book you've lent me," said Remus, changing the subject quickly, "It's helped quite a bit. It's a bit odd, doing it backwards, but it seems to work."

"Backwards?"

"What defenses the book detailed were intended to block an attack from without," said Remus. "It's backwards trying to prevent something within from escaping."

"Mental walls – a sort of cage, as it were?" asked Snape.

Remus nodded.

"Does she fight it?" asked Snape.

"She's sulking," replied Remus resignedly. "She fought for the better part of Halloween. She's tired."

"Not bad," Snape grudgingly allowed. "You might be a better teacher for Potter than I am."

"Your lessons are continuing, then?" asked Remus.

Snape crushed the desire to grin. "Yes, he's been progressing slowly," he said. "You might want to have a chat with him, though. I do believe he is in need of a bit of paternal advice and I'm not the one to give it to him."

"Paternal advice?" asked Remus, nonplussed.

"He doesn't want to kill Voldemort," explained Snape. "While he seems to accept that it is necessary, his reluctance is detrimental. He will never succeed if he doesn't _want _to. He needs to come to peace with the idea and with his conscience. I can't do it, and Dumbledore won't."

Remus was stunned. "You think I'd be able to get him to … accept his destiny?"

"Not his destiny, but his duty," said Snape. "I don't believe in Destiny."

"But the Prophesy," protested Remus.

"Only works because it was acted upon," returned Snape. "Because the Dark Lord believes in it."

Remus sighed. "I … am in contact with the boy," he said. "We write. I've been working more on trying to convince him that Sirius' death wasn't completely his fault. I never thought of… I hadn't considered…"

"You hadn't considered that what he's expected to do might not be what he wants to do," finished Snape. "Think of it this way, if you were told you had no choice but to kill somebody, how would you feel?"

"If I was told?" repeated Remus weakly. "I _am. _Monthly."

"No, you become _capable _of killing monthly," snapped Snape. "And monthly, the monster within you _wants _to kill. Think of what it would be like if you were asked to kill another human, with your present mind and form, in cold blood. How would you feel?"

"Unwell," said Remus shortly.

"That's a flippant answer for you," said Snape. "Don't you understand? He feels guilty about it. He doesn't want to be a killer. Frankly, that's the one emotion of his I find myself able to understand."

"I'll try," said Remus. "I thought that he'd been spoken to. Dumbledore said everything had been explained."

"Explained yes," said Severus, "but not made palatable."

Remus sighed. "I don't know at times whether he needs a hug and protection from everything or simply a shove in the right direction."

"How callous of you," commented Snape, raising an eyebrow.

Remus looked at his hands. "It's horrid of me, I know," he said. "I just can't help but tally everybody who falls, and I find myself constantly wondering if he'll be able to do it, how soon, and how much destruction will happen in between…"

Snape sighed. "It's not always black and white, Lupin," he said. "Yes, it's unfair to the boy to train him as some sort of weapon, but it would be equally unfair to him to shelter him so much as to have him weak when the time comes. What ought to have been done is for him to have been told much earlier. He could have had a choice."

"What sort of choice is there?" asked Remus.

"One to accept the learning he will need or to hide as long as possible," said Snape. "And this choice wasn't given to him, because Dumbledore felt we could not afford to have one child to behave a trifle selfishly. Fortunately, the boy has seen a modicum of sense. As I've said, he's agreed that it's necessary, and he's working towards it."

"He's working towards it," repeated Remus in a dead sort of voice. "Sweet Merlin what have we done to him?"

"His heart isn't in it, though," reminded Snape. "Duty isn't enough to motivate him completely, and the desire for revenge is frankly unhealthy – not to mention that he's quenched that mostly for fear of becoming like that which he fights against."

"I see," said Remus. "I'll … try and talk to him. I should have come down for Halloween, he wanted me to, but… I'll see him soon. Some weekend or other, I'll find an excuse…"

"Detention?" suggested Snape. "I can very easily send him here."

Remus shook his head. "He's been punished enough as it is," he said. "I'll figure it out."

At this point Philomena returned with the tea. "Did I hear someone mention Uncle Igor?" she asked, setting it on the table.

"Yes," said Severus. "He's the one that brewed my Antidote. Remind me to prevent him from giving you any sort of Potions lesson."

"You still owe me a lesson, daddy dearest," she reminded, serving. "I've never done any practical brewing."

"Your Uncle apparently needs a lesson in how to write letters as well," said Snape. "Not to mention testing before dosing. At least this time I don't need to be reanimated."

"Reanimated?" Remus mumbled in shock. "Was it that bad?"

"Relax, Lupin," dismissed Snape. "That was yesterday. In fact, my Healer will probably kill me for not getting the rest I should."

Severus sipped his tea tentatively. Once he was sure it would stay down, he took a larger swallow. Remus watched him worriedly; afraid that Snape's condition was worse than he admitted.

"You're looking better already," said Philomena. "Are you still dizzy?"

"Not enough to faint," Snape remarked.

"You will tell Uncle Igor to write, won't you?" she asked. "None of my letters ever managed to reach him."

"That would be because he's in hiding," said Snape.

She nodded. "I supposed as much."

"What did he say he wanted of her?" asked Remus carefully.

Snape sighed. "He's worried about her. Has been looking for her for quite some time, ever since Ralf prevented him from taking her. He simply wants to be sure she is safe, to be able to contact her."

Remus nodded. "Can he be reached somehow?"

"Address it to 'The Owner, Knockturn Alley,'" replied Snape. "It will reach him."

"'The Owner,'" repeated Philomena. "That's an odd sort of name."

"His accent is odder," replied Snape. "I ought to have known it was affected."

Finishing his tea, Severus set down his cup, and rose a trifle unsteadily. "Thank you for allowing me to recuperate," he said, "but I really must get back to Hogwarts before Albus thinks the worst. May I use the Floo?"

Remus stood, and led him to the next room. "Here's your book back," he said, handing Snape the Occlumency text. "Thanks again, and good night."

"Good night, Lupin. Philomena." Snape tossed powder into the flames and shouted, "Albus Dumbledore's office," disappearing in a swirl of green.


	50. A Will and a Threat

**A Will and a Threat**

When Severus stumbled out onto the hearth, Dumbledore was nowhere in sight. Fawkes trilled from his perch. Severus gave the bird a curt nod before flying to the door, wrenching it open and hurtling down the stairs.

With quick long steps he hurried to the dungeons and his laboratory. The door was ajar, a faint stream of light emerging to throw odd shadows in addition to those of the torches which had flared to life as Snape had entered the corridor.

A feeling that he was being watched stole over him, but he shook it off impatiently.

Drawing his wand in case it was not the Headmaster or some student up after hours, but a more unwelcome visitor, he quietly pushed the door open all the way, sensing that his Wards had already been disabled.

Albus Dumbledore sat in one of Severus' straight-backed chairs, reading through the letter Snape had written and rewritten several times.

"I'm not dead yet, Albus," said Severus, reaching over and plucking the parchment out of the man's grasp. "You've a good half hour before I told you to worry."

"Severus! My boy, thank Merlin!" cried Dumbledore, "Your monitor self-destructed, and I assumed the worst."

"If you had a monitor keyed to me I should have been informed," said Snape, wanting to snap but knowing that it would not effect the Headmaster. "As to its self-destructing I believe my multiple near misses might have put a bit of a strain on its workings. Don't bother repairing it."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled as he peered at Severus over his spectacles. "Hogwarts has a monitor on every student to give alarm in case of accidents, as you know as a Head of House. By Ministry Guidelines we are only permitted to leave them activated on former students if they do not object. Those that do not know of them do not object.

"Most are disabled, we have no cause to watch them, but should they become needed they could be activated again at any time. There are a certain few I keep in my office, keyed to those people I care for most."

"I dearly hope you don't spend all your time watching gadgets keyed to me and the rest of the Staff," said Severus, refolding the letter, dropping it into the drawer he kept it in. "You'd have time for little else." He slammed the drawer shut.

Dumbledore looked unabashed. "It might interest you to know that besides yourself I monitor the entire Order – and Voldemort."

Snape flinched. "I've asked you, Albus. Not that name when I can hear it."

"Why my dear boy?" asked Dumbledore. "It's only a name."

"And I'm only a man," returned Severus.

"What happened tonight, Severus?" asked Dumbledore. "Let's call the kitchens for a bit of hot chocolate and talk it over."

"No thank you, Albus," said Snape, "my stomach couldn't take it."

"You won't mind if I indulge, though," said Dumbledore. He clapped his hands, and a mug of steaming cocoa appeared before him.

Severus sighed inwardly at Albus' childish tendency to show off. "I went to dinner with Lucius Malfoy as I told you, and Dolohov," he said. "I'm under an Oath not to reveal what the plans are as I've told you before, but Lucius is deviating from them to his own gain, as I expected. He tried to kill me tonight. Fortunately, it was a Poison I had an Antidote for, so there were no lasting ill effects.

"I did learn something of interest. Narcissa's note to me is quite likely to be genuine. Lucius mentioned that she was anxious about Draco's impending coming of age, and that she was the sort to kill him for the estate. I think it would be politic to write to her, thanking her for the warning. It would be advantageous to have both believe I agree with them."

"Do what you think best, Severus," said Albus, sipping his drink. "About your letter –"

"Forget what was in the letter," interrupted Snape, "until you need it."

Albus held up a hand. "I simply wish to remind you that it would hardly be considered a legal document in the eyes of the Ministry."

"I don't very much care what the Ministry thinks," snapped Severus. "I wrote it for you."

"But they would hardly permit it," said Dumbledore. "I am not … refusing … to grant your request in the event – and I dearly hope I shan't have to – but the Ministry could make it impossible for me to do as you asked."

"My family wouldn't claim it," objected Severus. "And legally any 'close friend,' can choose to have the dubious honor of –"

"_Severus_," interrupted Dumbledore. "I realize all of that, but remember what happened in similar cases during the last war. The … that is to say they … The Ministry impounded many as 'evidence,' for use in research, and not even Blood Kin were ruled to have any say."

"You don't mean… those tanks in the Ministry are…" whispered Snape.

Dumbledore nodded sadly. "I'm afraid so. But I will do all in my power to –"

Severus swallowed. "Enough. We shan't discuss it."

Dumbledore looked relieved. "As you will," he said.

Severus sighed. "I hope that pun was unintentional."

Albus blinked. "As a matter of fact it was. Quite tasteless, too."

"Again," said Severus, "we shan't discuss it."

Dumbledore looked over his spectacles at Snape. "You're looking a bit under the weather, my boy," he said. "And your healer _did _order you to get some rest. Is there nothing else you wish to tell me?"

There were, Severus reasoned to himself, plenty of things he _ought _to tell the Headmaster. Things he ought to have told him years ago, things he should have mentioned even as a student. None of them, however, were things he would _like _Albus to know. He would tell no lies. He shook his head. "Nothing else, sir."

"Then get yourself to bed, Severus," said Albus. "You do need rest; you won't get it in this drafty laboratory. If you require time off from your classes…"

"I have never taken a holiday in my entire time here, Headmaster," snapped Snape. "And I don't intend to start now."

"Merely a suggestion," said the Headmaster, getting to his feet. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Albus," replied Severus, seeing the Headmaster out.

Once the door was shut Severus dropped his façade. "I won't let the Ministry have it," he muttered, beginning to pace. "Albus admitted he can't… Lupin! Lupin could … yes. Lupin will _have _to."

He sank into a chair. "But not yet," he said to himself. "Or he'll find a way to worm out of it… I'll demand it at the last possible moment…"

Resolved to put the matter out of his mind, he rose, and replaced the Wards to his laboratory before starting on his way to his private rooms, deciding he would write to Narcissa before midnight.

He was not planning on finding his quarters occupied.

XXX

Having finally shaken off Dolohov, Malfoy Apparated directly in front of Blood and Bones in Knockturn Alley. Descending the stairs, he reached the Owner's shop, nestled beneath the other. Finding the door locked, he seized the brass knocker and brought it down with a satisfying clang.

While waiting, he carefully arranged his face into a look of righteous anger. After a moment he heard the swing of a latch being undone, the grating noise of a bolt sliding through a rusty catch, and a metallic clang as it slid into place. The door creaked open a fraction of an inch, a black-gloved hand slipped through and beckoned, then disappeared.

Lucius narrowed his eyes, putting one hand to his wand's sheath, then pushed the door just enough for him to slip through sideways, before pushing it shut behind him. Immediately, he was grabbed by the shoulder and shoved to the ground. He barely managed to avoid falling on his face, pushing himself up on his arms.

The bolt slid black into place and the latch shut with a clatter.

Regaining his feet, he turned, but not quite quickly enough.

"Expelliarmus!"

He was about to retaliate with a bodily attack when he caught sight of the triumphant face of his assailant. His breath caught in his throat and he took an involuntary step back. "_You_?"

XXX

Severus glared down at his nephew, who was nonchalantly sitting in his favorite chair, flipping idly through a book.

"Hubert," Severus hissed, shutting the door and striding forward. "I have expressly forbidden you from coming without good reason."

Hubert looked up from his book with an indulgent smile. "Even if your Monitor hadn't been carrying on, I'd consider stepping in to make sure you were recovering and getting enough rest good enough reason."

"You should have written in advance," said Snape. "I generally attack unexpected guests."

"I'm sorry about the other day," said Hubert. "I went ahead and told your employer all sorts of crazy things. I hope he didn't cause you trouble."

Snape gave a grimace and shook his head.

"And I'm sorry about getting you sucked into the life-debt loop," said Hubert. "How was I to know?"

"You are forgiven," snapped Severus, falling the other chair. "I prefer being indebted to being dead, though that state isn't likely to last very long."

"Don't be such a pessimist," said Hubert mildly. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I've been hit by the Knight Bus," said Snape. "I was poisoned tonight."

Hubert's lips twitched in an almost fishlike way as he thought. "I thought you might have been," he said. "The readings showed a profound disturbance, followed by a rebalancing. That must have been the poison, and then the antidote canceling the effect of it. Though there seems to be a certain residual abnormality I haven't been able to place."

"The fool decided to serve it to me in a glass of wine," said Snape. "The alcohol threw off several factors. Otherwise, it should have stabilized."

"It has," said Hubert, "but you need a good deal of rest. Stable doesn't necessarily mean hale and hearty."

Severus gave a wry smile of acknowledgement before asking, "Your studies are going well I hope?"

Hubert nodded. "I did look into that detonator project as well –I think I've found a way to trigger the Energy from a good distance. You would have to cast the Spell in advance, and have it frozen immediately per Stasis Spell. Any Spell using Giconic Energy can then trigger it, no matter the distance away, so long as it is cast with Intent, by the same Wand."

"You must show me your calculations before we do any tests," said Severus. "This could be of great use in the war."

"Could have a number of uses other than a Magical Bomb," said Hubert. "For instance, if somebody had one of those OmniHeal Spells you've told me about cast on them, that was set into Stasis, their Healer could activate it immediately upon hearing the Monitor's alarm. Precious time could be saved, minutes normally taken up by their traveling to the scene of the accident."

Snape nodded. "We must look into every possible application, though no doubt, should it become common, it will only fuel laziness."

"Oh, to be sure, you could use it for a number of insidious things," said Hubert. "Some Hex on an enemy, just waiting for activation. They'd never be able to determine who had done it. You'd have a concrete alibi, and your signature from the original Spell would be long dissipated."

Snape nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, I can see it. If Bill Weasley only knew what he'd inspired. Had he not told that story about detonators in Egypt then I –"

A rap at the door interrupted them.

Severus got to his feet. "Sweet spirits of camphor," he snarled. "If that's a student they'll be in Detention until Christmas."

XXX

Lucius blinked in confusion. "Fortescue?"

Florean nodded, leaning against the door, dangling Lucius' wand in one long fingered hand. "Me."

"What are you – "

"Be quiet," snapped Florean, "and listen to me. Or your wand might just … snap in my fingers – ever so accidentally."

Lucius' eyes flashed in anger. "What do you want?"

"To tell you a story," said Florean. "A story about beautiful woman, ice cream, and poison."

"I do not take kindly to being attacked and told fairy tales," snapped Lucius.

"I'm sure you will in a moment," said Florean lazily. "You see, the woman's name is Narcissa."

Lucius narrowed his eyes. "My wife?"

"Do you know any other tall blond voluptuous women named Narcissa with a sweet tooth and no scruples?" asked Florean. "She enjoys a good desert as much as anybody. And so does her friend."

"Do you mean to insinuate that – "

Florean smiled. "Of course not. I'm simply trying to let you know that if you poison her friends, and attempt to get her relatives murdered, she might just let her hand … slip … right over your morning tea."

"Poison her friends?" asked Lucius. "What are you – "

"Professor Snape has many friends," said Florean. "Friends that talk to your wife in crowded ice cream parlors about how best to avenge him should you actually carry out your plan."

"You're lying."

"I wish I were, for your sake," said Florean.

"What do you want?" asked Lucius.

Florean shrugged. "Take it as you will. A warning that those you target are watching and waiting for you to make a mistake."

He reached behind his back and unlatched the door, sliding the bolt open. "Good night, Mr. Malfoy."

Lucius' wand dropped from Florean's fingers and rolled towards him as the door fell shut. Grabbing it, Lucius wrenched the door back open, ready to thoroughly Curse the man, only to be faced with the pop of Apparition and a rush of displaced air.

A slight cough sounded from inside the shop, and Lucius whirled round. The Owner was leaning on one of the shelves. "Please, Mr. Malfoy," he drawled. "You canna drive away ma customers."

Lucius turned, a dangerous look in his eyes. "Apparently," he said, "You 'canna' make a proper Poison either."

XXX

Severus opened the door to find the corridor empty, hearing quick footsteps disappearing around the corner. A basket sat on his doorstep. Casting a quick Charm, Severus was sure it contained no active Spells other than one to reduce weight of an object. He took the basket and returned to his rooms.

Placing it on the table, he lifted the cover. Inside there was a scroll, and a steaming tureen. Shaking the letter open, he read:

_Dear Professor Snape,_

_You were not at dinner and we heard you were ill. Please accept this as a token of our sympathy, and regain your health before the Headmaster replaces you with someone worse._

_Be Well._

He passed the note to his nephew while Wandlessly testing the contents of the tureen for any hidden Potion, Hex or Poison. Nothing.

"Odd," he said softly. "Some member of the student body, who –"

" Appreciates your brilliance," interrupted Hubert.

" – wants to bribe me," finished Snape.

XXX


	51. Friends and Enemies

**Friends and Enemies**

Lucius glared at the Owner. "If you can't keep your customers from being attacked under your very nose – "

"Where does ya think we are, Diagon Alley?" asked the Owner, heavily sarcastic. "If you canna keep yer Wand from flyin' off right under yer nose, tha' has nothin' to do wi' me."

"Damnit!" shouted Lucius. "I've been disarmed by an ice-cream man!"

The Owner shrugged. "You might ha' been," he said, "'but I wouldna admit it if 'twere me. Ye had better hope he doesna tell yer wife."

"What do you mean, I _might _have been, you potion-peddling pipsqueak!" shouted Malfoy. "You just _saw _the man! What was he doing here?"

"Ah ha' no wish te be insulted in ma own shop," hissed Igor, enjoying himself immensely. "Th' man could ha' be anybody! Merlin's sake, man, ye be in an Apothecary in Knockturn! Didna ye ever think o' Polyjuice? Glamours? Ne wonder ye canna keep yer wand in hand! Ne wonder ye dinna ha' th' sense to disguise yerself!"

Lucius bristled, refusing to admit that the man did have a point. Naturally, the one who had just so easily disarmed him couldn't possibly have been the same man who babbled about ancient history and served cones to students. Somebody was trying to make him do something stupid – like murder an innocent man and get himself incarcerated again.

Taking a deep breath, he snapped, "Your poison didn't work. I paid you well and you had my oath. You broke your word."

Karkaroff pretended to be taken aback. "It didna work? He canna have had an antidote – _nobody_ has an antidote."

"I gave it to him, he drank it, and he is still alive," snarled Malfoy.

"Did ye do it like ah told ye?" demanded Karkaroff. "You slipped it into tea?"

"Into a glass of wine," snapped Lucius. "Instead of dropping dead he complained about feeling a bit _heady_!"

Karkaroff gave an elaborate sigh. "Well, ye canna expect it to work like tha'!" he said. "The alcohol must ha' been high enou' te dull it, cloak it ye might say. It'll nay do anything tha' way but make him dizzy."

"You didn't warn me there were solutions which would neutralize its effects!" snapped Lucius. "You told me this was your finest, most insidious Poison – and it's been neutralized by a glass of wine!"

"Tha wanted my best as could fool a Master," corrected Igor. "Ma most _delicate. _ Ah'll have ye know nout a soul knows the formula! 'Tis tasteless, overrides each an' every detection Charm – "

"But he didn't die!" shouted Malfoy.

"You should ha' given it tae him as Ah was telling ye to!" snapped Karkaroff right back. "A delicate fine thing a Poison is! Tha canna drop it into anything, like a spice – Ah told yeh to put it in his _tea. _Told ye it was a finicky brew – tha should ha' asked if yeh didna understand!"

Lucius took a deep breath to compose himself. Not only hadn't his poisoning attempt work, be he had also been threatened by Florean Fortescue – or someone posing as him – and to add insult to injury, the man he considered responsible for his failure was berating him.

"Will he have formed a tolerance? Can I use the same again?" asked Lucius.

"Not from me, ye canna," snapped Igor Karkaroff. "Nobody wastes my Potions! In his wine, Merlin's Toes! Never heard of a thing more stupid, didna tha _take _a Potions class in yer life! Have ye no knowledge at _all _of the Greatest of Arts? "

"Now _look _here," snapped Lucius. "I paid – "

"For a Poison, not an assassination," replied Karkaroff. "Ah gave yeh what tha paid for."

"I refuse to –" began Lucius.

"If Ah sell yeh ink, it be not my fault if tha lets it go dry, so it canna write," said Igor.

"Damnit, man!" shouted Lucius. "You mean to stand there and say it was my fault!"

Igor blinked at him and said quite calmly, "Aye."

"You'll brew me another," demanded Malfoy. "You will brew me another and if it doesn't work, so help me Cerberus, I'll –"

"Tha'll do nothing, Malfoy," said Igor. "Ah've given yeh what ye paid for. Nobody wastes a Potion of my brewing twice. Get out!"

"Hell's teeth!" swore Malfoy. "I refuse to be pushed about by a Knockturn Alley Philtremonger!"

"Ah refuse to be bullied in mah own shop by a blond idiot who canna tell a Potion from a bucket of Gryffin spit! Who let himself be tossed onto his gluteus maximus and disarmed by a clumsy Wizard with nary a wit of intelligence!"

Lucius drew his wand. "You have two choices. You give me what I want, or – "

The owner cut him off with an unpleasant, malevolent laugh. "Ye'll do nothing, Malfoy."

"Don't be so sure," snarled Lucius.

"Tha canna give a Poison," said Igor. "How would tha detect one? Ah've many friends."

"As apparently does Snape," snarled Lucius.

"Tha's another thing," hissed Igor. "Tha knew he was ma friend. Right foolish of yeh to admit it was him tha wanted teh kill."

"It's no business of yours what I use it for!"

"Then 'tis no business of mine teh make sure tha uses it properly," returned the Owner.

Lucius sucked in a breath. "You'll sell me another!"

The Owner's eyes glittered dangerously from behind his mask. "Nobody wastes a Potion of my brewing twice – especially teh kill ma friends. Get out"

Before Malfoy could think of a suitable retort, the Owner snapped his gloved finger. A purple wall of Magic came towards Lucius, slamming into his chest. A second later, he found himself sprawled outside the entrance of the shop in an undignified heap.

Enraged, Lucius tried to force his way back inside, only to be repeatedly repulsed by extremely strong Wards. Finally, tired, humiliated and defeated, he Disapparated to Malfoy Manor. He had a few questions for his wife.

XXX

Severus was glowering at the note in his hands. It had resisted each and every Detection Charm he had tried. His Nephew watched him with a bemused air.

"Give it a rest, Uncle Russ," Hubert said. "Why's it so important for you to know which one of your students sent you dinner?"

Severus sighed tiredly. "Because it might not have been a student. Considering the power required to Ward against Detection Charms it is almost surely not a student."

Hubert shrugged. "You've already proved that it isn't dangerous. Why is it so hard to believe that somebody just wanted to make sure you didn't miss dinner? Even if it wasn't a student, but one of your colleagues… what difference does it make?"

"None of them would dare," said Snape. "People don't do things like this without wanting something."

Hubert sighed in turn. "Uncle Russ, its quite simple. Either you eat it, or your pour it down the drain."

Snape glared at him. "Doesn't it enter your overly thick skull that they might have an ulterior motive? I'd have to be mad to ingest it."

"You've got to eat _something,_" said Hubert reasonably. "I'm sure you're stomach is settled by now, and with what your system's been subjected to lately, you can't afford to miss a meal. You said yourself it was harmless."

Snape gave an exasperated gesture, glaring at the parchment in his hands.

"It won't give you the answer just because you're glowering at it," said Hubert. "What's upset you so much?"

"I have the distinct feeling that I'm missing something," sighed Severus. "It's niggling in the back of my mind."

"You'll find it," assured his nephew. "Eat something, get some rest."

Snape nodded. "Take care of your brother."

"Right," said Hubert, rising. "I had better get back before somebody tries to discover how I left my room with it locked on the inside. Goodnight."

"Goodnight," replied Snape, as Hubert Flooed off.

Alone at long last, Snape scowled at the parchment. He knew he had seen the handwriting before – but he saw so many samples of writing. Homework from countless students, letters from his myriad contacts.

He recognized only a handful of the students' writing, relying on the Detection Charms to prevent cheating. With a sigh, he resolved to compare the letter to the exams he had on file, and failing a match there, to his letters.

Tossing the offending parchment onto the table, he turned his attention to the tureen. It contained a dark soup, which was steaming and smelled quite appetizing. With a sigh, he scooped out a ladle-full and let it splash back slowly.

Something glittered.

Fishing the item out, he stared at it, nonplussed. It was a Sickle, or what was left of one, cut clumsily, a jagged triangle missing.

With a wry smile, he dried off the altered coin and turned it over in his hand.

"He'll want to reveal himself, then," he said to himself, "with the other piece."

He put the letter and the silver scrap carefully away, then turned back to his soup. His Spells declared it sound, and someone planning to reveal himself would hardly try to harm him. With a sigh, he began to eat.

XXX

Igor threw his head back and laughed until his sides ached. It had been too easy to goad Malfoy – and he had enjoyed the entire experience greatly.

Still chuckling, he gave a glance out of the window just in time to see Lucius storm down the street, yanking his hood over his head. Malfoy was so angry that he failed to notice that the man who knocked into him not only did so deliberately, but was Florean on his way back.

Shaking his head, Igor disarmed the door, just in time for Florean to enter.

As soon as the door was shut behind him, Florean too gave in to helpless mirth. For a moment, they simply leaned against the door and laughed.

Finally, Igor pulled himself together enough to say, "That was a very stupid thing to do."

Fortescue nodded. "I'm afraid it was. You'd think I'd know by now to keep a low profile... It was just that he walked in here with that nose of his in the air…"

"Not to worry," said Igor. "I threw him off the scent – told him he was crazy if he thought you were really you."

"Thanks," said Florean. "Did he accept that?"

Igor nodded. "I think mostly to avoid the humiliation of being disarmed and intimidated by somebody who serves his son ice cream."

Florean began to laugh again. "Did you see his _face_?"

"It was even funnier when I berated him for ruining the Poison," chuckled Igor. "I thought he would explode!"

"Honestly, though," said Florean, sobering a little, "I do believe I ought to warn Severus. Narcissa and Rabastan were after a bit more than dessert."

Igor shook his head. "Lucius isn't stupid. He'll be watching you after this – if only to try to prove that you weren't you."

Florean nodded. "You're right. Correspondence is watched as it is, and it would look odd for me to write."

"Then I shall tell him," said Igor. "I have to see Severus about something as it is."

"Aren't they watching the shop?" asked Florean.

"To be sure," said Igor. "But they can't _read _what we write, and he orders enough material from here as it is."

The other man nodded. "Wish I could see his face when you tell him that Narcissa is planning to get her overly manicured fingers on him…"

"I hope Lucius doesn't pester her too much about what you said," said Igor abruptly. "I happen to rather like her."

"Like her?" repeated Florean, nonplussed. "She's not only plotting to have her own husband murdered, but she's –"

"Yes, yes, I know," said Igor. "Still, once must admire a woman with …"

"Lethal tendencies?" hazarded Florean.

"Gumption," said Igor decidedly.

XXX

Lucius kicked the House Elf who was waiting to take his boots. The Elf hit the wall with a thulk, and watched with dull eyes as his master's silver heels clicked from the room, leaving muddy half circles on the floor.

Lucius stomped towards the west wing, shrugging out of his cloak. He tossed his hat aside carelessly, narrowly missing a Ming vase.

The House Elf scurried after him to take care of the discarded clothing, then hurried towards the kitchens, not wanting to be the one punished for the mud their master was tracking about.

Flinging open the door to the library, Lucius found his wife reclining on the sofa with a cup of tea and a novel.

She looked up and blinked at him. "Have you lost something?"

"My patience!" he snapped. "I'll have you know that I have an extreme dislike of hearing from other parties about your philandering in Diagon Alley!"

"My dear," she said, "I do believe if anybody was philandering, it wasn't me."

"Damnit, don't play word games with me now!" he shouted. "What the devil were you doing this morning?"

"I went to talk with an old friend, over hot chocolate," said Narcissa mildly.

"Who?" demanded Lucius.

"Rabastan Lestrange," replied his wife mildly. "He wanted to talk about Bellatrix."

"Bellatrix?" asked Lucius. "What about her?"

"She's a bit out of sorts, you know, Love," she said. "He was worried about her. We also talked about Draco, the Dark Lord, and a few other mutual acquaintances."

"Like Severus?" he snarled.

She blinked. "Severus?" she asked blankly. "Oh, yes, he came up – Rab said something about him looking a bit under the weather lately. Asked if I knew anything."

"And did you know anything?"

Narcissa sipped her tea. "I just said it was understandable – he was rather close to Igor."

Mentioning Igor didn't bring the guilty look into his face she expected. Disappointed, she tried again.

"I think it's possible he still thinks the man's alive somewhere, considering there never was a body…" she sighed. "Then, I suppose something or other finally made Severus accept the fact that Igor is dead."

"That's all you discussed?" Lucius pressed. "Everything?"

She shrugged. "Everything relevant. Why? Whose been filling your head with tales of philandering?"

He grimaced, still furious and embarrassed about what had happened in Knockturn Alley. "Don't bother your head about it, my dear," he said. "It wasn't important."

Narrowing her eyes, she watched him turn and leave, the door slamming behind him. Narcissa wasn't at all surprised that somebody had seen her in Diagon Alley as she made it a point to be noticed wherever she went. What was surprising was that somebody had managed to eavesdrop on at least a part of her conversation – why else would Lucius mention Severus?

With a frown, she considered the possibilities. The place had been crowded, and anybody with a bit too much curiosity could have reversed the Charm, albeit with some difficulty. She thought, however, that they either hadn't heard everything, or hadn't told her husband everything. After all, he would hardly be allowing her to sip tea if he knew what she was planning.

It had probably been some gossip causing trouble, she decided. She turned her attention back to her book with a contented sigh, "No one important."


	52. Unanswered Letters

**Unanswered Letters**

Philomena sipped her tea contentedly. It was early morning and she knew it would most probably be hours before her father was up. With a sigh, she reread the letter she had received the previous week:

_Philomena,_

_Your lack of response to my last six letters troubles me. I sense that you are safe, but your lack of communication is a cause for concern – as is your neglect of your usual donation. _

_I am sure that Lupin has told you the truth of your parentage by now. If this is your reason for shunning me, rest assured that I never wished anybody harm by what I have done – only made the best of things that could not be changed._

_I am equally sure that he has noticed your unusual aging pattern – some operative of his did see Mort and Bob on their last attempt at a visit, causing them great distress and demanding the details of your treatment. These he received, though I am sure nothing can be done with what little information he gained. _

_Surely, you cannot believe that I attempted to do you any harm. I have only ever done what I thought was best. Should you come to maturity the Ministry would surely become aware of the existence of a Seer – or at least of a Witch should it be that your Gift not be retained. Their system for managing Prophesies and Seers is intolerable, and until a way around it can be found it is imperative that you remain as you are._

_Perhaps you believe you have reason to be upset with me. One might say I kept you too closely confined, or that I lied to you or hurt you – but can you deny that you flourished in my care? If there were any way I could have taken you with me I should never have sent you away._

_Please believe me when I say that it pained me greatly to send you away. Know that you have always been first in my heart. _

_I shall send one of my friends to look in on you, to be sure that you are treated well and are safe, if you do not reply to this letter by Thursday. _

_Tread safely,  
Uncle Ralf_

She had debated telling her father about the letter, but had decided that she would rather handle the situation herself, reasoning that Remus had quite enough to worry about as it was, and that she was far better at manipulating Ralf than anybody.

The task of answering, however, had proved quite difficult. In spite of spending hours in composition, she had discarded each letter, never satisfied with the results.

"I've put it off too long," she thought, "let's hope it was an empty threat."

She tapped her chin, casting a glance at Remus' door. "I'll tell him it arrived late if anybody does come," she said to herself. "Wouldn't be a stretch considering how foggy it's been."

"Hypocrite," she said aloud tossing the letter to the table. "All for my own good, indeed. As if he hadn't fooled the Ministry before. They haven't noticed anything at any rate – or they'd have noticed the Gift at its first onset, or even my birth."

_Can you deny that you flourished in my care?_

Had she? Yes, before the Gift had manifested itself, Ralf had been a devoted guardian. She could not complain of her early years. It was only when she began to exhibit the first signs of Precognition that she had discovered his sinister side.

She sighed, and stared out the window watching the fog swirl, lost in thought.

At first, they had continued as they had been, except for her sudden and uncontrollable Visions. When it became increasingly clear that her Visions were sporadic and there was no telling their accuracy, however, he had tried various ways of perfecting her Gift.

"He just found out there was more in it for him if he kept me in Stasis rather than let me mature fully as a Seer," she muttered bitterly, "He didn't want to risk the possibility that I could lose the Gift, either."

The Wards rang out, startling Philomena so badly that she spilled her tea in her lap.

"Drat it all!"

Shoving cup and saucer to the windowsill, she grabbed a nearby dishtowel and tried to dry the stain with little success.

Remus stumbled into the kitchen, wand drawn, blinking the sand out of his eyes.

Philomena froze. "I – I spilled – spilled my tea," she stammered.

"Desicco," Remus muttered, flicking his wand at her robes. They dried instantaneously.

"It's stained," she said ruefully, staring at the resultant spot.

"Nothing for it," said Remus. "Tea is tea."

"Cast Abluo," she said.

"You want me to cast a Charm I don't know in my sleep?"

"The Wards startled me," she explained, feeling very stupid. "I can't."

"You were awake at least," said Remus. "Circe's cat! Who would come at six am?"

Philomena shrugged, and demonstrated the Wand movement with her wrist. "Abluo. Please?"

"All right," he said, "but don't blame me if it's ruined for life."

He cast the Charm gingerly, and the stain disappeared. She gave a grateful smile.

"Didn't the Wards say who it was?" she asked, gathering up the letter and pocketing it as she went to get her father's dressing gown from its hook on the inside of his door.

Remus frowned. "No one they recognized, so nobody that's been here," he said. "Unless somebody's been sent, or…"

She held out the dressing gown for him and he transferred his wand from hand to hand as he shrugged into it. Philomena fussed with the collar, and finally tied the sash. "Can't be seen by possibly hostile company in your pajamas," she said with a smile. "And put your slippers on before you catch a cold."

He sent her a glare. "Since when are you my mother and not the other way 'round?"

She tried to mask her increasing nervousness by going to fetch his slippers.

Remus peered through the window, catching sight of a figure slowly making his way towards the cottage through the fog, and forced himself to loosen his grip on his wand. Clutching impaired one's wrist movement, after all.

"Here you are, father," said Philomena, returning and setting his wool slippers by his feet.

"Thank you, Love," he said, stepping into them. "Is there any tea that you haven't spilled over yourself?"

She scowled at him. "Yes there is – and don't make fun of me, or I shall hide your sugar."

"And I'll Accio it right back," he returned. "Will you get me a cup? I don't want to deal with an intruder decaffeinated."

She smiled, and poured him a cup, adding his usual sugar. "You'll have to reheat it yourself," she said as she handed it to him. "I'm too nervous to cast."

"It's probably somebody who's lost their way," said Remus, not even believing it himself. "Probably looking for Rancotset Way."

He took the tea with his left hand, sipped it, grimaced, and cast the Warming Charm before taking a deep gulp.

Philomena took a deep breath and seated herself on the edge of the kitchen table. "Probably."

"Whoever it is, they're unarmed," said Remus, "but not particularly happy."

Moments later, the figure arrived at the door and knocked quickly.

Remus opened the door a crack. "Yes?"

"Mr. Lupin?" asked the stranger. "The name's Mort. I've been sent to discuss something."

"Who sent you?" demanded Remus.

"Ralf," said Mort. "Didn't he owl?"

"He did not," said Remus, "but talking in the door like this is causing a horrid draft. Step in."

Mort stepped inside and Remus shut the door. "Do put your wand away, Lupin," he said. "I've just come to talk."

Remus moved so that he was between the other man and Philomena, and relaxed his wand arm by his side. "About what?"

"She hasn't been answering her letters," said Mort, crossing his arms and leaning against the door. "And he's worried."

"What letters?" asked Remus.

"He sent a fair few," said Philomena looking at her hands.

"Well, then," said Mort, "Why didn't she answer them?"

"Maybe she didn't have anything to say," said Philomena quietly.

"She could at least let him know she hasn't been eaten yet," sniped Mort. "Honestly, you could let her at a parchment and quill for at least a minute. Have you even been letting her read them?"

"She's read them," said Philomena.

Remus was starting to feel a bit out of depth, and tried to regain control of the situation. "What letters? What does he want?"

"He wants," said Mort, "for her to assure him that she is well, and for her to explain why she hasn't sent her usual … fulfilled her usual daughterly duties."

"She won't be giving any more blood," snapped Remus. "It's not worth a thing to him, not now anyway."

"Please, ma'am," said Mort, turning his attention to Philomena, "just let me talk to your girl for a few minutes? She knows me, and we're good friends from a while back. If she doesn't get her treatments and so on she'll be in a bad way, and I'm sure you wouldn't want –"

"She has no need of your treatment," interrupted Philomena. "And she does not consider you a friend."

"You can't know that until you ask her, ma'am," said Mort. "Please, just a minute or two."

With a start, Remus realized that Mort hadn't recognized her, having last seen her as a child.

"There's no need to ask," said Philomena. "You can tell Ralf she doesn't wish to speak to him."

"That's a bit harsh, don't you think?" asked Mort. "After all, he _is _her father, and –"

"She's _mine_," snarled Remus. "He gave her up and he _can't have her._"

"Please calm down, sir," said Mort. "I know you were upset by her … condition, shall we say. Your man made that quite clear, but –"

"What man?" demanded Remus.

"Your messenger," said Mort. "Took my Wand, he did. Threatened us something terrible – even made me take Veritaserum! He –"

"I think he means Severus," interrupted Philomena. "He did go to find out the Formula and so on."

"Damn the man," said Mort bitterly. "Caused us no end of trouble. Didn't even have the decency to give an Antidote when he'd finished."

"All that aside," said Remus impatiently, "what exactly did Ralf send you for?"

"To see the girl," said Mort just as impatiently. "To see her and to talk to her, make sure she's all right and if possible get the damn donation before the contract runs out."

"What contract?" asked Philomena, eyes narrowing.

"Never mind that, now," said Mort. "Is the girl up? Can I see her?"

"I am and you are," said Philomena dryly.

"What do you mean you …" Mort trailed off, eyes widening as he realized what she meant. He looked her up and down amazedly. "You... how did you… how did he…good God."

"Your work and his has been undone," Philomena said. "So you may tell Uncle Ralf that there's no good his asking for my blood since it isn't standard any more. It won't work as he likes. It was altered too much when the Stasis was … reversed."

Mort was still staring stupidly at her. "But it was supposed to be impossible," he said. "Ralf said it was impossible."

Philomena smirked. "For him, yes."

"But not for your friend with the crooked teeth and Veritaserum?" asked Mort. "What was his name? Senicus?"

Remus bared his teeth at him. "Stop staring at her," he growled.

"Sweet Sprite of Sicily – they've _ruined _you," said Mort, ignoring Remus.

She gave a curt nod. "Precisely."

"But – the _Ministry!_" protested Mort. "What about the Ministry?"

She gave a shrug. "Useless as ever. I've not been documented if that's what you're asking."

"Documented? What are you _talking _about?" demanded Remus. "And stop_ looking_ at her like that."

"The Ministry – surely you know – keeps a record of every Prophesy made by a Seer having reached their full power. They have sensors for that kind of thing – they'd _know _what she was, and then they'd have come 'round to put all sorts of Monitoring Spells on her and whatnot, and –"

"Stop babbling," snapped Philomena. "Clearly, I have either found a way around the Ministry, or the Ministry is not quite as omniscient as you seem to think."

"It's impossible!" shouted Mort.

"One could also say it's impossible for Ralf's business to survive," she returned. "Now, it so happens that you're spoiling my breakfast. Please leave."

Mort laughed dryly. "You still bluster about when you're frightened, don't you?" he sneered. "I've enough to tell Ralf at any rate, so I'll no longer … spoil your breakfast. Good day."

With a mocking nod, he slipped out of the door and disappeared down the walk.

Remus turned and gave his daughter a halfhearted glare. "I believe you have a bit to explain."

XXX

_AN: From now on, all notes to this story can be found at http/ www. livejournal .com / users/ anfractus /446. html (remove spaces)_

_This is so that all replies to reviews and questions can be found in one place easily, without cluttering the story. There, you can find a list of all questions to date along with answers. If you've a burning issue that hasn't yet been addressed, please feel free to ask me, by review, email or the journal.  
Many thanks,  
Zymurgy_


	53. Sweets and Tea for Three

**Sweets and Tea for Three**

_Come join me for tea in my office.  
Albus_

The note looked harmless, but Severus knew better than to believe that tea was what the headmaster had in mind. Crumpling the note in his fist, he swooped from his office where had been correcting Third Year homework, and made his way towards the Headmaster's office.

He was surprised and a bit concerned when Madame Pomfrey turned into the corridor, and fell into step beside him.

"Headmaster ask you to tea?" she asked.

Snape nodded.

"Me as well," she said. "Any idea what he's about?"

Snape glowered. He hated useless conversation. "Nobody ever has an idea what he's about."

"I presume it has something to do with your health," she said. "After all, you apparently had a bit of an accident the other day."

"That is none of your concern," he snapped.

"Apparently, the Headmaster believes it to be," she said.

Snape scowled, hoping the nurse would not persist in trying to talk to him.

"You never _did _tell me what happened to you on Halloween," she said, "and, frankly, dear, you aren't looking well."

"I don't ever look well."

"You look worse, then," she said tartly. "Have you been getting enough sleep?"

"Have you been getting enough patients to keep yourself occupied?" he snapped, adding the password under his breath as they reached the gargoyle.

"I'm simply trying to look out for my colleagues," she said. "If you're in need of medical advice, even if you _won't _allow me to look after your actual treatment…"

"Yes, yes," he said impatiently, closing his eyes and leaning against the newel as it began to slowly turn, causing the stairs to spiral upwards with it. The stairs always made him dizzy, and closing his eyes helped a bit.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

He managed to scowl with his eyes shut. "Headache."

She sighed, and muttered, "Could have just said so."

The staircase ground to a halt. Severus opened his eyes and stepped onto the landing with a barely perceptible wobble. Pomfrey hopped lightly passed him and rapped smartly on the Headmaster's door, bringing the lion shaped knocker down with a robust clang.

Severus squeezed his eyes shut again; any other man would have winced.

The door swung open to reveal Dumbledore grinning behind a shining silver tea service on his desk.

"Good afternoon," said the Headmaster.

"Some people don't seem to think so," sniped Pomfrey, as she took the chair with the deeper cushions.

Severus sat with out a word, accepting the cup of black tea handed to him.

"With sugar, my dear Poppy?" Dumbledore asked unnecessarily, handing her the cup he had already prepared.

She smiled as she took it and balanced it precariously on the arm of her chair.

The Headmaster pushed a plate of biscuits towards their side of the desk. "I've called you up to have a bit of a chat about Harry Potter."

"Harry?" asked Pomfrey, nonplussed. "But I thought – "

Severus sent her a sidelong glower, sipping his tea. "His lessons progress as usual." he said.

"Is the boy ill?" asked Pomfrey concernedly. "You've let him do something horrid and reckless and stupid again haven't you?"

Albus twinkled. "Now, dear, I only do that once a year."

"Get to the point, Headmaster," growled Severus.

Albus looked impassively over his spectacles at Snape. "Headache?"

"I haven't had time to retrieve a Draught for it between my last class and this!" snapped Severus. "Just tell us what that infernal child did this time and what the two of us have to do with it."

"You suggested last meeting that the boy had to be allowed from the castle, that the security in place was both useless and cruel," said Albus.

Severus nodded stiffly.

"He really ought to be out in the sun a bit more," said Pomfrey. "It would help for him to replace the exercise he's missing from Quidditch, though I can't say I'm sorry he's out of the path of Bludgers and such."

"Are the benefits worth the risks, though?" asked Albus innocently, sipping his overly milky tea.

Severus knew very well that the Headmaster was trying to make him agree to teach Harry extra Defense lessons by forcing him to suggest the idea himself. He decided to play along, considering that as he was already giving the lessons, it would be well to make them official, not to mention that the boy would be better off with a bit more room to maneuver.

"Perhaps," he murmured slyly, "if he were in the company of a teacher."

"He has the option as it is and doesn't use it," said Poppy. "He's entirely too considerate of other people's time."

"If any child other than Potter were even half as inconsiderate as he is, they'd have been expelled twice over," snapped Severus, with the sole intention to be difficult.

"If he were given a reason, other than his personal well-being, he would be more inclined to leave the Castle," said Poppy. "After all, the only other reason that he stays _in_ the Castle is the fear that he might draw his friends into danger were he attacked _outside_."

Dumbledore hummed a bit as he contemplated which sweet to choose next.

"We could kill two birds with one stone and give him extra Defense Lessons," suggested Snape, wanting the meeting over as soon as possible.

"Do you think he's able?" asked Dumbledore. "It could be a strain, considering –"

"Merlin's Toes!" swore Severus. "You've sent the boy against a possessed and insane Wizard when he was eleven. A few little lessons can't possibly –"

"I don't understand why you'd think it a strain," said Poppy simultaneously, "he's practically jumping out of his skin for something to do since you took away his Quidditch!"

Albus cheerfully bit the head off a Necromancer Nugget. "It was suggested he receive lessons," he said, "but I doubt they're advisable, after all, he's about to take his Newts, and he's only just recovering from a nasty bout of the Uncommon Cold."

"What cold?" demanded Snape, just as Pomfrey said, "He wasn't even sick for a whole day!"

Albus twinkled, while Severus and Poppy exchanged perplexed looks.

"Stoats, Albus! It was just sniffle, not Thestral Pox!" said Poppy. "Honestly, I'm beginning to think Severus is right – you do treat the boy like a piece of unspelled glass."

Albus merely munched.

"The only problem he could possibly have is lack of condition, as he's not been flying outside class," said Pomfrey, "and that'll come back in no time if Severus is his usual unforgiving self."

"So you say it would actually be good for him?" asked Albus.

Pomfrey nodded curtly. "Keeping him on his toes is the best thing at the moment, both to develop the reflexes and skills that he needs and to stop him from moping."

"Moping?" asked Albus innocently, nibbling at his Nugget.

"Yes," said Poppy. "You'll have to admit that he withdrew into himself after his Godfather's death. He's hardly recovered from the shock and the traumatic stress of the event, not to mention the fact that you've banned him from leaving the castle. You stopped his flying, which is one of his greatest passions, and he's feeling confined, and –"

"I don't have time to listen to you psychoanalyze the boy!" snapped Severus. "I think he's recovered, in fact, he's not withdrawn, he has simply matured."

"But you do agree that he shouldn't be confined into the Castle," said Albus, "you mentioned that last Meeting. You also mentioned his claustrophobia; you appeared quite concerned."

Pomfrey laughed derisively. "Probably because _he _dislikes the boy being underfoot day and night."

"I'll give him the lessons," snapped Severus. "I agree."

"But, Severus," said Dumbledore bemusedly, "I haven't asked you to give any lessons."

Poppy barely suppressed a snort. "You were leading into it, Albus."

"Dear me," said Albus. "I must be getting transparent in my old age – do have a Lethifold Lollipop."

"Revolting things," said Poppy, grimacing at the skewered leathery mass Albus was offering her.

"Distraction shan't work," said Severus. "Do you, or do you not want me to give the boy lessons in Defense?"

Dumbledore stroked his beard for a moment, looking deep in thought. "I suppose…" he said. "Since you offered, yes."

Severus gave an exasperated sigh. "I'll keep you apprised."

"Doesn't the boy's opinion matter – shouldn't we talk to him?" asked the Matron.

"I'm sure the Headmaster will find a way to convince him to be in my office tomorrow at six in the evening, ready to travel," said Severus, setting his empty cup back on the tray and rising. "I am equally sure he will manage that the boy remain unseen and knows we are going to Merlin's Rill."

"You seem to have this planned." said Poppy, looking at him with a curious mixture of surprise and confusion.

"And you think the Headmaster has not?" Severus asked sarcastically. "If I might be permitted to leave…?"

Albus nodded. "Thank you, Severus. The boy shall be told."

"Then, good day."

With a curt nod to each of them, Snape left the office, shutting the door with a snap. A moment later, they heard the stairs grinding squeal as they descended.

Dumbledore let out a sigh of relief.

Pomfrey sipped her tea as though just remembering that she had it and asked, "Is he all right?"

"He is better than he was," said Albus sadly. "I met his Healer."

"Competent?" asked Poppy.

"Yes," said Albus, "but very young."

"How young?" asked Poppy.

"About twenty," said Albus. "And a Muggle."

"Is the man _insane_?" asked Pomfrey. "Someone that young couldn't _possibly _have finished any sort of Muggle medical training, and as for being able to treat some supposedly extremely rare and troublesome Magical condition –"

"I trust you'll keep this confidential," said Albus, "but I … looked in … on him while they were occupied. He is no stranger to Magic. I have never seen the things he did – afterwards he told me what had been done, but his terminology is nothing I've heard before. I've not been able to find it in any reference…"

"So because of a bit of flashy work and some incomprehensible jargon you assume he's a genius?" demanded Pomfrey. "Damnit, Albus, the man is putting his life into the hands of somebody who can't _possibly _be qualified."

"It takes more than flashy work to revive a man from what must have been nearly a coma," said Albus gravely.

"A coma?" asked Pomfrey. "I don't understand – what happened to induce a –"

"He lost consciousness several times," said Albus, "due to his ingestion of a toxin, which was meant to be an Antidote, but apparently reacted badly due to some anomaly concerning his blood composition. It resulted in reduced … well, the Healer called it Energy, but the Monitor showed a decrease in _Magic._"

"His Magic level dropped?" shouted Poppy. "That's impossible! Insane! It only drops when the patient is _dying._"

Dumbledore nodded. "I know. The Healer not only told me that Severus had been in no mortal danger, but apparently – you'll understand I cannot tell you from whom – transferred Magic from another source to save his life."

"That's impossible!" insisted Madam Pomfrey. "It's never been done!"

"Just because something has never been done," said Dumbledore, "does not mean a way may not yet be found."

"How did he do it?" demanded Pomfrey. "_What _did he do? You're telling me some Muggle boy managed to do what our Alchemists, Mediwizards, Healers, and Mages have failed for millennia?"

Albus nodded and bit into a biscuit, which shattered and covered his beard in crumbs. "Odd, isn't it?"

"Odd?" repeated Pomfrey. "Odd! A boy_ – _a _Muggle, – _defies every known law of Metaphysics, _transfers Magic, _saves a man whose Magicwas _leaving him, _and all you can think of to say is _odd?_"

Albus wiped his beard with an enormous lime green handkerchief. "Well, it isn't quite so odd once you think about it."

"Isn't quite so odd," said Pomfrey weakly. "I think I need more tea."

"Gladly, gladly," said Dumbledore with a twinkle in his eye, taking her cup and refilling it for her, "you see, I've seen a Magic level manipulated before – I just didn't realize that that was what I was seeing."

Pomfrey took a fortifying gulp of tea. "Albus," she said, "you mean to sit there, and tell me, that you've seen this sort of thing before?"

Dumbledore nodded. "Tell me, Poppy," he said, "what does Avada Kedavra really do?"

"It kills," said Pomfrey shortly. "Irreversible, sudden, death."

"Yes, but _how,_" stressed Dumbledore. "_How _does it kill?"

"It stops the vital organs from functioning, instant death," she replied.

"Yes, yes," said Dumbledore, "but a man whose breathing has stopped can be revived, can he not? As can one whose heart has stopped beating for a time. What makes death by Avada Kedavra so sudden and absolute?"

"It… separates the soul," said Pomfrey slowly.

Albus nodded. "So does the Dementor's Kiss – but those victims continue to live."

Pomfrey made an exasperated motion. "I don't know," she said, almost frantic. "I don't understand!"

Albus sighed. "Avada Kedavra works by intent. The intent of the Caster is to _stop life. _It does so by stopping everything sustaining life. As you say, the Soul is separated, the vital organs are stopped. What happens to the Magic?"

"It dissipates," said Poppy, "as in any … sweet Merlin! You mean that the loss of Magic isn't the result but the _cause _of death? That the Curse annihilates it?"

"Why is it harder to believe that the curse might destroy Magic than it is to believe that it destroys life?" asked Albus. "Never mind," he added quickly, when he saw she was about to answer, "the point is that there _is _a curse which _does _effect Magic itself."

Pomfrey shook her head violently. "No – no, you're making a mistake," she insisted. "You're looking for something so you see it all over the place. If that were right you could use Avada Kedavra to … I don't know … create a squib, if your Intent were strong enough. But you _can't._"

Albus nodded slowly, "Yes," he said, "but –"

"Avada Kedavra with the intent to kill results in instantaneous death," interrupted Pomfrey. "This results, as with any other death, in the cessation of organ function, the separation of the soul, and the dissipation of Magic. It's not strange that death by a curse be instantaneous and absolute – there are other causes, Magical and natural, that are just as swift."

The corner of Albus' mouth twitched, as though he were trying not to smile.

"I don't know what your monitor recorded, but there must have been something that interfered, or you misread it, or it was malfunctioning," said Pomfrey, having calmed back to her usual crisp state. "Which isn't too much of a surprise, considering that you said it self-destructed yesterday and the man is still alive. I don't know what the Muggle did that you thought was a transfer of Magic, but considering that he is a _Muggle _he can't have had any effect on the Magic whatsoever. _Something _happened to revive Severus, but whatever it was, it certainly wasn't a transfer of somebody else's Magic."

"I suppose you must be right," he said lightly. "No matter."

"After that, he says, 'no matter,'" repeated Pomfrey. "The children are right. You _are _mad."

"Perhaps," said Albus, "perhaps. And perhaps we are wrong, and the Muggle is right."

"Perhaps the moon is made of green cheese after all," said Pomfrey snidely.

Albus smiled slyly. "Perhaps it is."

"You've got me completely muddled," she said, almost crossly. "We were talking … we were talking about Severus' health. And when I pointed out how inappropriate and foolish his choice of a Healer was, you told me some ridiculous story about Magic being transferred and Avada Kedavra and…"

Albus popped another sweet in his mouth, looking for all the world like four year old caught at some forbidden game.

"Well, I stand by what I've always said," said Poppy, "I don't care if his healer is a twenty year old Muggle who can raise the dead or a fully qualified Mediwizard who graduated Summa Cum Laude from Vardwizhar – it's dangerous the way he's set things."

"It's his right," said Albus. "He's permitted to have a personal Healer."

"It's also his right to swim nude in the lake," said Poppy, "but you wouldn't allow _that _either."

"Not nude, no," said Albus, "the students, you know, impressionable minds… but in the lake, yes."

"Not the point," snapped Pomfrey. "It's a foolish thing for him to put himself needlessly in more danger."

"My dear Poppy," said Albus, "if I forbade my staff from doing foolish things they would hardly do anything. All actions are foolish from certain points of view."

Pomfrey sighed. "I should have known better than to try and have a serious conversation with you."

Dumbledore nodded. "No matter," he said. "Some Chocolate-covered Chizpurfles?"

XXX


	54. A Quarrel, a Lesson, & a Cryptic Letter

**A Quarrel, a Lesson, and a Cryptic Letter**

Remus let out a long sigh as he sank into the wooden kitchen chair. "You weren't going to tell me about the letters."

Philomena didn't look at him. "I didn't see why I should."

Remus shook his head. "Why not? I could have prevented this."

She laughed mirthlessly. "By offering Ralf your throat?"

He gave a low growl and flashed an angry look at her. She tossed her head. "Why shouldn't I say it? You're as helpless with him as I was."

"Perhaps," he said, "but I would prefer to know when you are threatened by someone; when you _know _somebody is going to arrive _here_ to confront you, I ought to be informed."

She sighed. "Nothing happened."

"But something _could _have happened," he insisted. "Why didn't you say something?"

"It hadn't anything to do with you," she said.

"If your safety has nothing to do with me, what _has?_" he asked.

"_I _don't know," she answered. "Maybe you should make up your mind."

"Make up my mind?" he repeated. "You're my daughter, and it's my duty to protect you. I can't do that if I don't know what's going on!"

She gave an exasperated sigh and hopped down from the table. "A few days ago you said you wanted me to have a large degree of freedom. That you'd be willing to help me no matter what I decided. Now that I actually did something on my own, you're upset that you didn't have a finger in the pie and – "

"You didn't _do _something," he contradicted, "you decided _not _to do something."

"Doesn't matter," she said turning her back on him. "If you want to control everything I do – I just won't let it happen again. I _won't._"

"I'm not trying to control you," snapped Remus. "I'm trying to _help _you."

"I don't _need _your help!" she shouted. "You said it yourself – I'm of age, and I ought to be doing something more than sitting in your attic doing your research!"

Remus gave a deep sigh and shut his eyes. "Philomena… I simply want to know when you've a problem. I won't force you either way, but I insist on the right to know, and the right to give you advice, whether or not you take it."

After a long silence, she relaxed from her tensed state, and turned back to him. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I… I just… you acted like him, and I…"

He rubbed at his forehead with one hand. "It's all right," he said. "I shouldn't have snapped at you."

She smiled slightly and walked hesitantly over to him, and perched herself on the arm of his chair, putting her arm around his shoulders to steady herself. "It was very easy to pretend there wasn't anything wrong," she said. "I didn't want to face him again."

He nodded, and placed his hand over the one on his shoulder. "I meant what I said. While I certainly won't agree with every decision you make, I will not force you one way or the other – though I believe I ought to be able to at least know and talk to you about it."

She nodded and squeezed his shoulder. For a moment, neither said anything.

"Well," he said, giving her and a final pat before he disentangled himself to reach for his cup of tea on the table, "that's the first domestic quarrel I've had in a long time."

She smiled. "I'd never gone so long without one before."

"I haven't had one in over twenty years," he said, resting his tea in his lap, leaning his head back.

She shifted slightly, until she could sit without the support of either hand and began carding one through his hair. "Ralf and I fought all the time."

"Always fighting is only slightly worse than never fighting," said Remus.

"Isn't never fighting the ideal?" she asked, still idly playing with his graying hair.

He smiled sadly. "It ought to be, but if every possible argument is skirted 'round, if people just keep on not agreeing, but don't do anything about it, nothing is ever resolved. Discontent and anger fester and … with enough time every cross thought, every small bit of discontent is released at once, in an explosion of conflict. Enough to ruin anybody's love for anybody else. Poisonous. "

Remus broke of with a sigh, and took a sip of his tea.

"I suppose it's a question of balance," she said.

"You've a greater question of balance," he said, twisting his head to look her in the face. "You'll fall. You're forever perching yourself on things."

"You said you shouldn't force me one way or the other," she reminded playfully. "If I fall, you're permitted to say 'I told you so,'."

He smiled. "Enough drama for one morning. Would you like to go over those Personal Wards again for the Order?"

She slid of the arm of the chair. "Yes, let's," she said. "And after, why don't we write to Uncle Igor?"

XXX

At precisely six that evening, a quiet knock sounded at Professor Snape's door.

He gave a sigh as he sensed it was Potter and waved the door open. There was a shuffling noise and the door shut itself.

"Remove it," ordered Snape.

Harry required no clarification. He slipped the Invisibility Cloak off and hung it over one arm. He had followed the Headmaster's instructions, had worn his heavier cloak and his boots.

Severus frowned. "Didn't the Headmaster tell you where we were going?" he asked. "Your hands will freeze."

Potter sighed. "Couldn't find my gloves in time."

The Professor gave an exasperated sigh, wandlessly conjured a pair of gloves and tossed them to the boy who caught them reflexively.

"Put those on."

Snape strode towards the door of his office and retrieved his cloak from its hook by the door. Pulling it over his shoulders, he fastened it with the silver pin, removed his own gloves from a pocket and finally donned his hat.

Potter had pulled the gloves on and turned towards his Professor. He gave an odd sort of half start and seemed to be trying hard not to laugh.

Severus froze. "What is so amusing?" he asked dangerously.

Harry, still trying very hard not to laugh, said, "It's your hat, Professor. I'd never seen you wearing one, and …"

"Potter, if you even think of mentioning Lupin's class, Dementors, or Longbottom, I shall personally hex you six ways past Samhaim," snarled Snape. "Is it so odd that I wear a hat?"

"Well, everybody wears hats," said Harry reasonably, having gotten over his amusement. "But you aren't everybody, sir."

Severus gave a huff, adjusting the plain black Wizard's hat on his head. "Put that ridiculous cloak back on and follow me closely. If you get lost in the forest I shall not hold myself responsible."

Harry quickly pulled the Invisibility Cloak back over himself. "Yes, sir."

Severus frowned and watched the boy disappear under the shimmer of silvery fabric. "Silently, now," he warned, "and keep close."

Snape opened the door and slipped into the corridor. He felt Potter's cloak brush past him as he shut the door, reinstating his Wards with a careless flick of the wrist.

Walking quickly, Severus seemed not to care whether or not the boy was still with him, but keeping a careful ear for the scuffing sound of Potter's shoes and quiet breathing.

Snape ducked through a low archway Harry couldn't remember having seen before. Going through it, they came into a long tunnel that appeared to slope upwards ever so slightly.

Snape drew his wand to cast Lumos just before the archway disappeared. A few small torches on either side sputtered to life. Harry blinked as his vision slowly adjusted to the darkness, before hurrying to catch up to Snape who had not broken stride.

As his eyes adjusted to the half-light, he realized with an inward start that Snape had no shadow, and that although the heels of his boots glittered hard and metallic, they made no sound on the stones.

Snape walked on, tucking his wand back into his robe's pocket.

The corridor twisted and turned, slowly spiraling upwards, and Harry began to wonder if they were somewhere inside the walls of one of the towers. He knew better than to ask.

After what seemed an interminable amount of walking, they reached a row of doors, one of which creaked opened as they approached. Snape turned on his heel and went through. Harry followed, nearly getting his foot caught as the door slammed shut after them.

They were outside; the sudden cold wind caused Harry to shiver and draw both the Invisibility Cloak and his regular one tighter around himself. He turned back to the castle, somehow unsurprised that the door they'd come through had disappeared entirely. Turning back to Snape, he ran to keep up.

They hurried across the grounds, and quickly reached the Forbidden Forest. The Professor slipped between the trees, using his wand to clear the way of branches and undergrowth, cruelly allowing the sharp brush to snap back into Harry's face.

Harry gritted his teeth, forcing his way ahead, a bit to the side, so that he could walk in the path Snape cleared without suffering either the backlash or the clearing swipe of his wand.

A rushing sound joined the odd creaking and wailing of the forest but Harry was too busy trying to keep from being hit by the branches to notice.

Minutes passed, before they finally reached a clearing, where the forest stopped abruptly, as though somebody had deliberately cut a perfect circle from it. The ground was covered in a thick layer of brush and old leaves, uneven and rough.

There was a stream at their feet, running softly and lightly turning to ice around the edges. Harry squinted, trying to locate its source, but it seemed to be meshed with the ending of the forest, burbling from nowhere and flowing in an odd swerving path, disappearing into the distance.

Snape advanced several feet into the clearing, stepping carefully to avoid the water. He stopped abruptly and turned to face Harry, who had stayed at the edge of the forest looking about in confusion and awe.

"Cloak, Potter."

Harry's fingers fumbled as he pushed the hood from his head and swung the Invisibility Cloak off of his shoulders. He folded it carefully and tucked it into his roomiest cloak pocket, sparing a thought to be eternally grateful for Fortifying Charms without which it would surely have been ripped to shreds by the forest.

Snape jerked his chin towards the water. "Merlin's Rill," he said. "An example of why things Conjured in a hurry ought not to endure."

Harry surveyed it, head to one side. "Why did he Conjure it?"

Snape shrugged. "I suppose Merlin needed one in a hurry and put more power into the Spell than he intended."

"How far does it go?" he asked, peering into the distance, trying to see if it terminated the same way at the other end of the clearing.

"Far enough," answered Snape.

Harry sighed and wondered what it was Snape was trying to tell him. "It isn't often one needs a rill in a hurry."

A corner of Snape's mouth twitched. "Indeed."

Harry swallowed. "Will it be Curses or Legilimency? And are you _sure _we couldn't have spared ourselves the trouble and had this lesson in the Castle?"

Snape smiled nastily. "I think, Mr. Potter, it is time we got back to Occlumency."

XXX

Igor Karkaroff let out a sigh as he closed his shop for the day. Business had been slow. Considering how choosey he was about customers, this was hardly unusual. "I'll have to warn Severus about Narcissa," he thought to himself

Slipping the final bolt into place and adding his usual Wards, he surveyed the empty shop with a sigh. He decided he would write to his cousin immediately, crossing through the shop and laboratory, to reach the small living quarters behind them.

He let his overly bulky robes fall to the floor carelessly and tossed his mask onto his desk. Igor ran his fingers through his hair and ruffled it vigorously; a welcome relief considering it had been flattened by his disguise for hours on end.

Pulling a sheaf of blank parchment towards him, after a bit of shuffling, he found his quill beneath an Herbal. Dipping it into an inkwell the shape of a duck, he began to write:

_Severus,_

_A conversation has been overheard which causes concern: _

_The wife of the man who recently tried to convince you to conduct Poison research has plans against him. She works towards gain of wealth, and quite possibly a replacement for him. A ruthless researcher – she never misses a dotted T._

_Be on your guard and enjoy mint,_

_The Owner._

Satisfied that nobody would understand who did not know, he sealed and sent it just as he would any mundane business correspondence.

XXX


	55. Experiments, Duels and a Reunion

**Experiments, Duels and a Reunion of Sorts**

Remus heaved a deep sigh as he reshelved some of the testing equipment.

"They don't work," he sighed. "It's a dead end."

Across the room, Philomena looked up from tallying test results. "Don't be such a pessimist."

"The committee and I have been working on them for over a month now, and it's always the same," protested Remus, crossing the lab to where she was. "The charms aren't held active long enough to be of any use."

"It's not as bad as all that," she said. "They're easily recharged."

"But that defeats the purpose," said Remus. "They're supposed to eliminate the need to waste energy on personal Wards. They were supposed to be something you could easily carry with you, added security without extra trouble. If our operatives need to spare a thought on whether or not they're still active and take time to recharge them, they're not worth producing."

She frowned. "I think it's because they're weakened by the Charms used to throw the Ward from the item to the wearer."

"That can't be helped," said Remus. "There wouldn't be a point to the project if we could Ward the people directly. We can't because that's a Magical strain, not to mention that the Ministry Workers are screened for that sort of thing."

Philomena nodded. "There's no chance of our using phoenix ash?"

Remus shook his head. "Even if it weren't impossible to get without spending an arm and a leg, Albus would kill me."

She redipped her quill and continued to tally the figures. "The Wards simply aren't meant for inanimate objects."

"That _is _why we're supposed to be modifying them," he said dryly, with a crooked smile.

She tapped her chin with the quill. "They would last longer in an object with active Magic in it."

Remus dropped a book he had been about to shelve onto the table. "I suppose," he said. "What sort of object do you have in mind?"

Philomena shrugged. "Something that wouldn't seem odd for a person to carry. Anything imbued with a permanent, constantly active Charm. A No-Smudge ink tip might even do it, _if _we can find a way to add the Ward to it without disturbing the original Spell."

"I have it!" cried Remus, turning towards the shelf, where he quickly found the book he wanted and began to leaf through it. "It might just work – it'd take a terrible amount of Casting to set up, a Stasis Charm on the original Spell, the Charms to add the Wards, and then to deactivate the Stasis without deactivating the Wards…"

She rose with a sigh and gently took the book away from him. "We've been down here working on the Wards for the last three hours. I don't know about you, but I think its time we took supper."

He laughed as she put the book away and led the way back upstairs to the kitchen.

"You should have said to come up while I still thought it was impossible," he said. "Now you're going to have to suffer through my being completely restless and edgy."

Philomena rolled her eyes. "You? Restless? Call the Daily Prophet!"

XXX

Harry stood with his feet braced and his hands on his hips, chin defiantly in the air.

Snape stood several feet from him and gave him no warning before he cast, "Legilimens!"

Severus put his usual amount of strength into the Spell, but instead of the regular open tunnel behind Potter's eyes, he saw nothing. He increased the level of Energy he was putting into the Spell to no avail.

Instead of even reaching towards a mental wall or other barrier, he found himself not even able to establish the connection. Impressed in spite of himself, Snape cut off the Spell. "Adequate."

Harry nodded sardonically. "Thanks."

"You were braced for the attack, however," said Snape maliciously, "and the Dark Lord does not give warning."

Potter grinned.

"So we will work on how well you shield with the distraction of a duel," said Snape.

"Now?" Harry asked, looking about and reassessing the terrain. "Do we have rules?"

Severus nodded. "We shall not cast Unforgivables, or any deadly Spells. Your object will be to reach the other side of the Rill, without taking a hit or allowing me to penetrate your Mind."

"Yes, sir," said Harry, getting out his wand again, and starting to back warily towards the rill.

"I shall count three," said Snape, "One, two – Merlin's Beard!"

Harry laughed as Snape retrieved his hat from where a large tawny Owl had knocked it off, but helpfully caught the bird as it swooped towards the ground taking the scroll from its leg.

The scroll was tied with standard brown twine and addressed to, "Potions Master, Hogwarts."

"Here you are, Professor," he said, handing the letter to Snape.

Snape snatched the letter from him and shook it open.

_Severus,_

_A conversation has been overheard which causes concern: _

_The wife of the man who recently tried to convince you to conduct Poison research has plans against him. She works towards gain of wealth, and quite possibly a replacement for him. A ruthless researcher – she never misses a dotted T._

_Be on your guard and enjoy mint,_

_The Owner._

Severus read the missive twice, understanding it only roughly and cursing his cousin for being deliberately more obtuse than he'd any cause to be. He pushed the note into a side pocket and irritably shooed the owl away.

One look in Potter's direction ensured that no questions would be asked.

"We begin again, on the count of three," said Snape. "One, Two – LEGILIMENS!"

XXX

Karkaroff had just settled himself with a good book and a glass of wine when he was interrupted by the insistent tapping of an owl at his window. Expecting Severus' reply, he set his book to the side and twisted to open the window behind him. The owl swooped in, along with a great gust of cold air.

"You're not mine," he said to the owl as he pushed the window shut and latched it. "Where'd you fly in from?"

The owl gave a hoot and stuck out its message-bearing leg. Igor removed the scroll, letting the owl move from the windowsill to perch on his shoulder.

Karkaroff broke the wax seal with a fingernail and unfolded the note. He recognized the handwriting with a jolt of joy, and read it quickly:

_Dear Uncle Igor,_

_It has been a long time since we saw each other last, and I hope you are quite well. For some time I had been unable to reach you, and I assume that your owl had equal difficulty. By good fortune, I met my Uncle Severus, though I hadn't known him to be such, and he informed me that you were looking for me, and how to reach you._

_Ralf, as I am sure you've found out on your own, has left Britain. He has left me in the care of one Remus Lupin, my father. He's turned out to be a right good old egg – we're getting along swimmingly, had our first spat this morning, as it turns out, but there was no Wolf involved and we're back to normal already._

_He's the academic type, just like you and Uncle Severus, but sadly a bit absent minded at times. Strictly on the up and up, so he's naturally unemployed but gets by on reviewing books for the Smethwick Library, and freelance Charm and Ward work. His specialty is Defense, but that branch of things is regulated so tightfistedly by the Ministry, that he's not really able to use that officially. _

_I really hope I can see you soon! You and Remus ought to get along famously. You could both theorize for hours on end without realizing that your tea has spiders in it, or that you've got a quill stuck in your hair. _

_I've saved the best news for last. Uncle Severus and he managed to reverse the Stasis! We've also gotten Ralf royally peeved by refusing blood. Feel much better without draining myself all the time – though initially groggy when I missed the first several, Remus suggested a potion and I'm right as rain – and nearly as tall as you!_

_Not only that, as if it weren't enough, Uncle Severus created a Potion that made my "condition," completely manageable. Blue flames abound, and they're far more interesting than the Daily Prophet, I can tell you! I'm sure Uncle Severus has been quite smug about it and you've probably already heard of it, even if you didn't know I'd taken it._

_Do let me know how you are, not to mention where!  
All my love,  
Philomena_

_P.S. I still have the talisman you gave me. Right useless against Werewolves, it is! _

Igor read the letter over again with a smile. His niece had always been a bit overenthusiastic about him, as Ralf had always tried to keep her under his thumb. Although Severus had already told him her news, it made him doubly happy to hear it from Philomena herself.

He turned back to the second sheet of parchment that had fallen into his lap when he had opened hers. Igor unfolded it resignedly, knowing that Lupin's letter would be of a more serious nature.

_SVBE, Karkaroff._

_Having recently been informed that we are, to an extent, related, and that you have an interest in the care and upbringing of your niece, I humbly request that we meet in person to discuss this and other matters, at your earliest convenience. This could take place either at my place of residence, or in a spot of your choosing._

_Yours in faith,  
Lupin._

_P.S. Apparition Coordinates: 392L, 234H, 191D, 224F._

It was just like an English man, Igor thought, to write an entire paragraph of nothing and save any real content for a discussion, no doubt involving tea. It was better to get such a discussion over with quickly, not to mention the fact that the sooner he saw Philomena himself, the sooner he could be absolutely sure she was safe.

Throwing a traveling cloak over his shoulders, he tied it at the neck and pulled the hood over his head. The Obscurous charm in the cloak activated, making his face appear to be little more than a blur.

He Apparated with a resounding crack.

XXX

Having had their supper and written their letters, Remus and Philomena decided to take care of the rapidly accumulating leaves in their yard.

Remus was working at this unpleasant task as he did every autumn, that is, by Ventus Charm. The Charm caused a great gust of wind to erupt from the tip of his wand, blowing the leaves towards the edge of the lawn.

Philomena watched him leaning on the front door, as he swished his wand back and forth recasting the Charm with every swipe.

"That's a dead stupid way to go about it," she said.

Remus stopped abruptly and shot her a glare. "All right then," he said, "_you _do the leaves!"

She gave a decidedly Snape-ish smirk as she straightened and made a sweeping motion with one hand.

"Coacta Iacio!" The leaves from the side Remus had not yet gotten to flew up and followed her arm, before hurtling towards him in a wave of orange and red.

Caught wholly off guard, Remus clamped his eyes shut against the oncoming dust and cast "Evanesco!" blindly.

He cautiously opened one eye then the other, and then blinked both. The leaves had been Banished, which was normally impossible while they were all lying scattered about on the grass. He worked his jaw speechlessly for a moment, looking from his daughter to the now pristine side of the lawn and back again.

She smirked at him and gave a sarcastic little wave towards the leafless side. "Tada."

"You'll pay for that!" he shouted, dashing up towards the house and shaking a fist at her mockingly. "You dare set leaves upon me?"

"I dare!" she shot back, running to the rail of the porch and lifting herself over before dropping to the ground. "You just _try _and catch me!"

He grinned, hefting his wand and watching her sprint towards the side with the remaining leaves. "Ventus!"

She stumbled as the gust of wind hit her and she turned back with some difficulty. "Alter Dexter!"

He tried to raise his arm to block the Spell, but his left arm rose instead. He tried to lower it, and ended up stretching his right arm behind him. She had switched the control of his arms.

It was a bit of an awkward maneuver, but by using what he felt was his left hand, he managed to get his right to perform the suitable wand movement. "Finite incantatem!"

Remus retaliated with, "Stata!" causing her feet to stick to the ground.

Philomena twisted around to see him and flailed a bit before she was able to release herself. She cast "Cogo!" causing all the leaves of the yard to collect in a heap before her.

Remus pocketed his wand and ran forward, pushing her headlong into the pile and diving after her.

She gave a shriek and began to pelt him with handfuls of leaves.

Neither noticed the crack of Apparition at the edge of the Wards, nor the figure who was walking slowly towards them.

Just as Remus was pushing her back into the leaves in revenge for her stuffing some down the neck of his robes, a voice demanded, "What do you think you're doing?"

XXX

Severus grinned and cast the Tripping Hex yet again.

Harry dodged and shot back a Tarentallegra, which Snape easily blocked, while Harry advanced a few feet towards his goal.

"Locomotor Mortis!" Snape said, almost lazily.

Harry, who had looked away for a critical second to see where he was going, took the Curse full strength. His legs snapped together and he fell backwards, catching himself on his elbows.

Snape continued to grin and twirled his wand as Harry glared at him. "You'll never get across at this rate, Potter," he taunted.

The boy didn't react to his goading, but efficiently cast the Counter Curse and scrambled back to his feet. "Stupefy!"

Snape set up a purposely flashy shield, hopping to distract. Harry, however, was picking his way across the rill on the scattered dry spots, keeping one eye on his adversary and one on the opposite shore.

Dispelling the shield, Snape cast a freezing charm at the rill, instantly turning the water where Harry was walking into slick ice.

Harry was momentarily distracted, trying to remember a melting charm but using Flagrate, which did nothing to ease the situation and merely caused a cold, flaming X to appear on the surface of the ice.

Snape took the chance to cast Legilimency silently, looking for an opening in Potter's mind.

Harry tried to step out onto the ice, which gave an ominous creak. He managed a second step before he lost his footing and sprawled out on the ice. "Expelliarmus!"

Snape allowed his wand to fly from his hand and gave an exaggerated stagger, mentally probing for a way in, or even a visible defense. At last, he had it! While Potter's mind surged in triumph, he managed to slip in.

Quickly, he snuck through Potter's memories, not in his normal intrusive way, but carefully and quietly, as the Dark Lord would. He reached and found a memory that seemed promising and held on to it.

Harry, in the meantime, had scrambled to his feet, clutching his own wand in one hand, Snape's in the other. He'd quickly slipped and slid across the ice to the other side, where he turned to grin in triumph. "I win!"

Snape laughed sinisterly. "A Pyrhric victory, Potter. Tell me, do you smash mirrors in your dorm often, or only after a death in the family?"

Potter let out a cry of anger and hurt. "How _dare _you!"

"You fell for an old trick, Potter," said Snape softly. "You concentrated on the physical objective, on the thrill of the duel and on winning, forgetting your mental barriers to the point where I could infiltrate your mind without your even noticing I was there."

The boy glared back at him with undisguised hatred. "You sadistic bloody damn – "

"Pull yourself together," snapped Snape. "This was to teach you a lesson. _Never _forget your defenses; _never _let your guard down. The Dark Lord does not wait until you do not have distractions."

Harry refused to look at him, trying to calm himself down.

"Conliquefacte," incanted Snape wandlessly.

The ice melted and the damped gurgle of the rill returned to its full force.

"The lesson is over, Potter," said Snape tersely.

Harry tucked his wand away and stomped back across the rill, rudely shoving Snape's wand to him. Unfazed, Snape pocketed it, and jerked his head towards the path back to the castle.

Potter set his features in an angered grimace and headed towards the forest.

Snape privately thought that were it not for the scowl, Potter would let loose and try a curse or two. "Cloak on," he ordered, "and back to the Castle."

Harry pulled the Invisibility Cloak over his head irritably and followed Snape out of the forest.

Snape returned to the Castle, simply tapping a brick with his wand to open the passageway they had left it by. As soon as he opened the door to the main corridor, he heard Potter's footsteps as he stormed off in the opposite direction.

Severus smiled to himself. It was good, he thought, that the boy was upset. He would work harder to prevent such a thing from happening again.

Snape fumbled in his pocket for his cousin's letter and pulled it out. He read it once more, and decided it was better that he simply see his cousin and ask directly what the letter had meant. With a scowl, he turned back into the corridor and left Hogwarts once again, Apparating for Karkaroff's shop as soon as he had left the grounds.

XXX

Remus and Philomena sat up abruptly and stared at their visitor, who pushed his hood back to reveal his face.

Karkaroff stared back. "Philomena?"

She was the first to recover, jumping up and, headless of the leaves in her hair, she ran to give him a hug. "Missed you!"

Remus got to his feet awkwardly brushing himself off. "Igor Karkaroff?"

Karkaroff nodded and held out a hand. Remus shook it. "Lupin, I presume."

Remus smiled. "Yes."

A crack of Apparition interrupted them. Snape strode over, cloak billowing behind him.

"Severus?" asked Remus, now a bit confused. "What brings you here?"

He jerked his head towards Karkaroff. "Looking for him."

Igor smirked. "I thought you would be. How did you find me?"

Snape gave him an exasperated look. "You've allowed me to Apparate into your home. From there it was a simple trace Apparition."

Philomena laughed. "It's a bit of a family reunion, what?"

Remus smiled weakly – and invited them all in for tea.


	56. Circumstances Begin to Converge

**Circumstances Begin to Converge **

Snape and Igor left together, leaving behind a slightly amused Philomena, a tired Remus, and barely touched tea.

"Well," said Philomena, once they were gone, "that's that."

Remus nodded. "It's good to know that you've a hand up for university at least."

She smiled. "You think its possible I go to Equinox?"

Remus sighed. "Yes, it's possible. It's in Wales?"

Philomena nodded. "Best for Divination and Arithmancy."

Remus refilled his teacup. "Not that you really need to study Divination."

With a smirk, Philomena perched herself on the edge of the table. "I'll need to study the layman's methods," she said. "Sooth, Astrology …"

"… old tea leaves," teased Remus. "Animal entrails."

"Of course," she agreed. "I could never set up a practice without being a certified practitioner of faulty methods."

"They've a certain element of truth to them," said Remus mildly. "At least, done by qualified people."

"Done in the right circumstances, by a Seer of any degree of power," she corrected, "with a bit of luck, yes."

"Shaky profession, that," he said wryly.

She nodded. "Worst comes to worst, I can always teach."

He gave a half-offended scowl. "I'll have you know that teaching is not the worst of the worst."

"Then what is?" she teased.

"Editing," he said decidedly. "Spending all your time underlining peoples' mistakes, making them feel bad, and dealing with them yammering and disagreeing with you, defying the rules of grammar and in general making a nuisance of themselves. It's a horror."

"And Warding?" she asked.

He gave an exasperated sigh. "It's not a lot better," he ranted. "You've either the customers who'll haggle with you and bother you for the cheapest security available and then complain that your price is far to high since they _could _erect that level of Ward by themselves… or you have the people that want their hearth to have Wards right out of Tutenkamen's tomb, with no need for them at all. It's a nightmare, honestly."

"Teaching?"

"The committees are as bad as the publishers," he said with a groan. "The staff meetings come a fair bit close to a small war – and Circe's Hat, the _essays!_"

"Then, as a combination of the three, in a sense, it must be the worst," she said triumphantly. "But do you seriously think Equinox would accept me?"

He gave a shrug. "An exam or two to show you've had the equivalent of a Hogwarts education shouldn't be that hard for you to pass. We'll just have to figure some way of making it appear that you use a Wand as per normal and get you a bit better versed in practical Potions and whatnot. A few months study and you should be set."

"Well, we've time," she said. "We can start a regular course of study after Christmas."

He smiled. "At least I know that Karkaroff isn't as bad as some people have made out."

She rolled her eyes. "He's a bit of a wimp," she said, "and he's not the best for morals, but he's not a bad Bart."

"He's decent as far as a former Death Eater can get I suppose," he said with a sigh.

"Well," she said, "back to the Warding Project?"

He rose from the table and began to clear it. "Yes, I suppose, a bit more before the committee meets tomorrow."

XXX

"All right then," said Snape when he and Karkaroff where finally alone. "What in the name of Hagga were you trying to tell me?"

Igor smirked. "Narcissa is trying to kill Lucius."

"I _knew _that," snapped Severus. "I've known _that _for years. Hardly a reason to send me an Owl at an extremely inconvenient time!"

"She's looking at getting her overly manicured fingernails on you," said Igor. "She'll have your last name for her collection."

"And I've known _that _for over twenty years," said Snape exasperatedly. "She wanted me as a first, you know. Right out asked me to marry her, manner-less thing."

Igor looked bemused. "And you refused? Are you _dead?_"

"There's more to life than blond hair and – that's not the point," said Snape. "At any rate, I refuse to emulate the many husbands of Alice Anderphil."

"Anderphil?" asked Igor, "Who in the name of Bendis –"

"Mrs. Zabini, now," said Severus. "Went through six or seven husbands, you know. Not important, not important. Whatever did you mean about dotted Ts and enjoying mint?"

"She knows about my being alive," said Igor, "the handwriting in the notes. Florean overheard them talking about it in his shop. I can't believe you didn't copy them before, just a simple –"

"_Lucius _was supposed to see them," snapped Snape. "He was supposed to know that I had someone at my back, that he was being watched – and copy them himself before sending them on to Antonin and Rabastan. I never dreamt they'd be recognized – he can't tell a flourish from an inkblot except that he practices the one and blames the other on his Elves. How did Narcissa get hold of them? Who else knows?"

"I doubt that Lucius even read it," said Igor, "simply passed the scrolls down to Lestrange, who thought it well to mention it to Narcissa, partly in the hope that she could prevent him from getting killed, and partly to incite her to carry out her plans regarding Lucius."

Snape ran a hand through his hair and sat down heavily. "Confusticate and befuddle Lucius."

"Confusticate him?" repeated Karkaroff incredulously. "_Befuddle _him? I'd say goddamn him to bloody hell."

"You always did talk like a guttersnipe," said Snape. "Igor for – just explain what the matter is before you upset yourself about how I ought to be reacting to it."

"Well, Florean came over to my place to explain how he'd overheard Narcissa and Rabastan talking about you and me and Lucius. They know you worked on the project, and Rabastan is a bit upset that you were given more knowledge about it than you were supposed to be allowed.

Igor paused. Severus waived an impatient hand for him to continue.

"Then Rabastan told Narcissa that I was alive and that Lucius has obviously been keeping the information from her. S_he _revealed that she'd been eavesdropping on him, that she knew that Lucius was planning on having both you and Antonin killed in the process of tearing down the Dark Lord to set himself up in a position of power."

Snape groaned. "I knew _somebody_ was watching," he muttered to himself. "Now I know who."

"They've joined forces," continued Igor. "She wants the Malfoy estate, the Black estate, probably even _your _estate. Rabastan wants to live – and they've both a bit less love for Lucius after the entire fiasco with Azkaban prison."

Severus snorted. "She could accuse Rabastan of the same thing," he said. "He got himself out of prison – he could have used his defense to get his brother and sister acquitted if he'd wanted to."

Igor shook his head. "It was unlikely they all be acquitted without Lucius' supporting testimony. He insisted on only commenting on his own case, you remember. Rabastan was acquitted under lack of evidence and your testimony, but Bellatrix and Rodolfus were never quite as covert about crime as they might have been. You know how Avery and Nott put a Spanning Spell into things with –"

"Never mind exactly how," said Severus, "the fact remains that Narcissa and Rabastan bear a grudge, however nonsensical, against Lucius for the incarceration of Bellatrix and her husband."

"That's right," Igor agreed. "Now, Narcissa's plan is to influence the Dark Lord, discreetly of course, to have Rabastan and Antonin removed from the project on account of incompetence, and Lucius Malfoy replaced. She guessed, of course, that your figures were slightly incorrect…"

"Brilliant," breathed Severus. "Of course, they'll suffer a Cruciatus or two before the Dark Lord's through, but Lucius will be pleased as punch to be in charge of something so delicate … and when it fails!"

"Show a little less glee about the potential death of somebody who's your cousin several times removed," Igor admonished jokingly. "After all, blood is blood."

Severus grinned widely. "The Blood Magic, when activated, should sufficiently protect Potter to allow him to get close enough to – we can have the Dark Lord eliminated before New Year."

Karkaroff rubbed his palms together. "I knew you weren't in with them," he said.

"Of course you did," said Severus, clapping him on the shoulder. "You might be a bit of a timorous man, but you've never been stupid."

Karkaroff returned the gesture with a grin. "It's all coming together now, isn't it?"

Severus shrugged off Karkaroff's hand and let his own drop. "That it is," he agreed emphatically, sinking into one of Igor's chairs. "I need tea."

XXX

The next morning, Lucius Malfoy was reading in the solarium when it filled, quite suddenly with green smoke. He let his book fall to the floor and screwed his eyes shut against the stinging fumes.

A moment later, with a zishing sound that a Muggle might mistake for the pull of a zipper, the smoke consolidated into green stars, which formed a hovering Dark Mark.

Blinking rapidly to clear his eyes, Lucius gave a half bow towards the mark without leaving his chair.

"Lucius," Voldemort's voice hissed from the mark, "you have displeased me."

Lucius clasped his hands in his lap. "I beg forgiveness, my lord."

He wasn't quite certain that this method of communication worked both ways, but he wasn't willing to take the chance.

As though he hadn't spoken, the mark continued, "I should have been informed that you discovered a weakness in our followers," it hissed.

A jolt of pain passed from Lucius' mark through his body, making him twitch. "I –"

"But I am pleased that you were so willing to put yourself into the place of Dolohov and Lestrange, to do their duty in order to give greater service," it rasped. "Continue as you have been – I expect the project complete and perfect before the month is out."

With a rumble the mark dissolved into nothing. Malfoy fell back in his chair swearing weakly in French.

"Either I'm dead or he'll be," he muttered. "Why do I do these things?"

XXX

As soon as Rabastan could breathe again, he sent Narcissa a note of congratulations for her swift action.


	57. Members of the Order

**Members of the Order**

That afternoon Severus tried to suppress his manic glee. It was difficult, after all, to properly punish students when one felt like grinning from ear to ear.

As a Professor, Snape had found it necessary to give up grinning and smiling altogether – nobody, particularly those eleven years old, could take a man seriously when his dimples were showing.

Snape wasn't sure if the old problem with smiling still existed as he'd become a bit gaunt over the years, but bad habits were not to be taken up again lightly, and thus while acting as a Professor, Snape did not smile.

Albus, however had not much need of facial features as a means to determine what a person was feeling, and shot Severus an inquiring glance across the Head Table.

Severus met the Headmaster's eye and allowed himself a vindictive smirk.

"Are you quite all right, Severus?" asked Sprout, who was not quite as adept as interpreting feelings as Dumbledore. "You look ill."

Poppy looked up sharply only to grimace when she caught site of Severus' expression and turn her attention back to her plate.

"No, Pomona," said Severus, "everything is in order."

McGonnagal's eyes shifted and gave him an appraising glance. "Good or bad?" she asked quietly.

Severus raised an eyebrow at her and, ever so slightly, let the corner of his mouth twitch.

Satisfied, she took a sip of her pumpkin juice. "Good"

XXX

Alastor Moody and Sturgis Podmore sat morosely in the kitchen of Grimauld Place, waiting for Kingsley to arrive.

"Merlin's Walking Stick," cursed Moody. "We had a month!"

"I'm sorry, Alastor," said Podmore. "Its simply that with all the work I had with the Ministry, and guard duty on –"

"Hmph," Alastor huffed. "I'm sure that Kingsley managed to squirm in time to finish it."

"Well what were _you _doing instead?" snapped Sturgis. "It's not as though _I _was busy with reinforcing my _deadly dustbins._"

Moody growled. "How many times do I have to remind you that security is vital? CONSTANT VIGILANCE!"

Sturgis winced. "You could have at least worked on your personally keyed Wards so that we had some data to play with."

Moody shifted and his wooden leg clicked against the table's. "'Tisn't a game, lad," he said gruffly. "It's dark business, dark and evil."

Podmore rolled his eyes. "Yes, I know, and we're all doomed unless we keep Potter alive and he manages to save us all again," he said. "Still, the fact remains that we've got a security report to give and we haven't –"

The fireplace crackled and with a flair of green flame, Kingsley Shacklebolt tumbled unto the hearth. Brushing himself off, he said, "Evening, so sorry I wasn't about if you were trying to Floo Call me all this time."

He walked to the table and set down a handful of scrolls he'd been cradling under his arm. "We have half an hour for you to go over these and pretend you worked on them."

"Ta, Kings," said Sturgis, taking up one and scanning it. "Knew you'd be here early."

Kingsley sighed and slumped into a large overstuffed armchair. "Bring this one in from the sitting room, did you?"

"It doesn't like the drapery there," said Moody. "Damnable idiots, the Blacks, no reguard for Elementary Furniture Safety. Why, I knew a man who was decapitated by his own headboard.

"He'd animated the bed, you know, to make sure the pillows stayed fluffed and the blankets aired themselves and whatnot, but he forgot to take his shoes off one day and it got offended.

"It cut his neck clean through and his House Elf found him the next morning... Took us three days to calm the bed down enough that we could dispose of it – it couldn't stand the blood on the sheets, don't you know, but – "

"Shut yer gob," muttered Sturgis. "You're making it up."

"Truth, so help me," said Moody, hitting the table with a gnarled fist. "I keep telling people animating household appliances here and there is all very well and good, but not those what can kill you."

"Of course," said Kingsley. "Which explains why you enchant your flask to tell you when its been touched by anybody else."

"Protects me from poison!" sputtered Moody. "I've a Surge Protector on the pocket in case it turned against me, which is only there in case the Holding Runes fail and – "

"Enough," said Kingsley, holding up a hand and laughing quietly. "I'm sure you know what you're doing."

"Don't we all," muttered Sturgis, finished with the one parchment and handing it to Moody.

"Apparently not some of us," said Shaklebolt. "After all, which one of us wrote this report?"

"Ta," said Sturgis again. "There's tea."

"Wouldn't put it past them to have hexed the teapot, but if – "

"It's _Molly's _kettle," said Podmore. "Really, Moody."

Kingsley accioed himself a cup and poured, reading the notes Sturgis had left in the margins of one of the parchment. "Before the others come, I'd like to show you something rather … interesting I found the other day."

"Quiet, Kings," said Sturgis. "Let us finish up, first."

"You had nearly a month, man," admonished Shaklebolt. "Honestly."

"What is it?" demanded Moody, whose magical eye seemed to have scanned all of the parchments at once.

"Oh, just something about Lupin," said Kingsley airily. "Some… interesting … papers on file."

"Oh come off it," said Podmore, dropping the scroll he'd been looking at. "Stop acting like a cat who's just eaten a canary and just tell us what it is you've found."

"About the girl, I suppose," said Moody. "Who is she?"

"That I can't tell you," said Kingsley, "and if you listen to Arthur I oughtn't to be telling you what I _do _know. But … "

With a pause that could be either hesitation or simple teasing, Kingsley produced the documents he had found.

"Adopted," said Sturgis with a laugh, "she was _adopted. _All that bit of speculation for nothing!"

"Idiot," said Moody, "_always _read the fine print! You never know when it could contain something vital or dangerous! CON –"

"Look at the numbers," interrupted Kingsley. "Remus' and the filer's didn't match – and they were filed a good ten years after the date they claim to be from. It's a forgery."

"A dead good one at that," muttered Moody, whose normal eye was intently studying it, while his other had swiveled into the back of his head. "The Muggles would never be able to tell the difference, but since …"

"Somebody went through a lot of trouble to hide this girl," said Kingsley. "Somebody obscured his magical signature, forged documents in the _Muggle _world, hid all trace of her original identity – see, there's no name change, she's simply "the child henceforth to be known as Philomena Lupin…"

"Not that unusual," said Sturgis, "there are people who give children up for adoption who simply don't want to be identified or found."

"But they'd go through the usual channels," said Kingsley, "they're guaranteed anonymity. At least that's the way it is in our world, I've no idea about the Muggles…"

"Let alone the fact that Lupin would have no reason to adopt, or even to be allowed to adopt, right out of school, without a job, without a family," put in Moody. "Its an obvious obfuscation."

Sturgis shrugged. "If he had a good reason, if he knew her –"

"If so, then why didn't we know about it?" demanded Kingsley. "It's illegal for a Werewolf to have children, we all know that. Yet he comes in and tells us all she's his, even though he has reasonable papers to show that he's simply her legal guardian and not –"

"Would make sense for him to hide his own child as his adopted child," said Moody, "Double bluff. In case the ministry found her."

"But he hasn't had her since birth," protested Sturgis. "That's what, eighteen years ago? He was running all over London, didn't even have a steady place to live, fighting solo. He'd not have possibly cared for a newborn."

"Nothing says he _did,_" said Kingsley. "Just that he was legally responsible – at least that's what the forger _wanted _us to think. It's_ ten _years old, you know, and even _then _Remus couldn't have had care of a child. He was defying death in Albania for Dumbledore."

"You think he agreed to hide her?" asked Moody.

"I think he may have been forced to," said Kingsley. "Think about it. Who at that time would have had ample reason to hide a child? Who _still _does? Who seems to know her far better than he should?"

"Who did I say could have been related to her the _last _time we talked about this?" put in Sturgis. "Snape. I said it, and you agreed with me."

"Yes, but then we had hardly any evidence to back us up," said Kingsley. "Now we have."

"No, we don't," protested Podmore. "This could have been anybody, there's no reason to believe that Snape had anything to do with it, or – "

"Who else would have enough of a hold on Remus to convince him to do something this illegal?" demanded Kingsley. "Snape could have threatened to expose his lycanthropy."

Moody's magical eye swiveled madly. "Or there's a _double bluff_," he said, "maybe Remus _wants _us to think that _Snape _wants us to think that –"

"Alastor!" interrupted Sturgis. "_I'm_ trying to think!"

"The question is, _why _Snape was so keen to hide her in the first place, and what he did with her the _first _ten years, let alone until now," said Kingsley. "After all, in the first war, he hardly had reason to fear the Dark Lord's forces –"

"That's silly," said Sturgis. "After all what do any of us know about Snape? Did you even talk to him back then? I certainly didn't. I didn't see him, or even think about him, between school and the second calling together of the Order when Dumbledore finally revealed to us what happened _last _time. He could have had ten daughters and three wives and I'd not have noticed. Or cared."

"He was never married," said Moody. "He can't get married."

"Why not?" asked Kingsley. "Well, aside from the obvious."

"Snape isn't in position to inherit," said Moody. "His elder brother, Mordred Snape, disappeared shortly before he ought to have gone to Hogwarts, though the family continues to claim he went to some foreign school or other and lives on the continent. He's never been installed as heir – not magically, and so the title, if Lady Snape ever gives up the ghost, would automatically go to … Lord Snape's cousin, Victor Relnis, unless Mordred resurfaces.

"Which all puts Snape in the unfortunate position of being in no position to inherit the title, even practically disinherited form his family at that, though nobody can quite tell if that's because he went dark or because he didn't go quite dark enough," Moody went on. "There's nobody that'd even consider a match with him, barring a Muggle-born, and Snape –,"

"I get the idea," said Kingsley.

"I wouldn't have pegged you for the sort that knew that sort of gossip," said Sturgis. "You never seemed to care for the lines or blood purity."

"Of course I know it all," snapped Moody. "Know they enemy! Lack of knowledge will get you killed! CONSTANT VIGILANCE!"

Kingsley winced and said, "That only makes things make more sense. If the girl is somehow connected to Snape's brother, he'd naturally hide her, or perhaps is hiding her for his family to prevent further scandal…"

"I doubt it," said Sturgis. "Snape wouldn't do that sort of thing for somebody else. He doesn't risk himself."

Moody snorted. "He does little else and he'll never live if he keeps it up – no thought at all to elementary precautions."

"But not for his family," insisted Sturgis. "As far as anybody can tell he hasn't spoken to his mother since his father's funeral."

"_Now _whose the sort to know all the gossip?" teased Kingsley.

"Oh, _everybody _heard about old Lord Snape," said Sturgis dismissively. "There was quite a rigmarole in the Prophet over whether Lady Snape could legally still have the manner, according to Femina Tenere, or whether the heir should be brought forth, let alone the fact that he died by _falling down the stairs –_"

Kingsley held up a hand to stop him. "Podmore, for Merlin's sake, calm yourself. We can't know _why _right now, and it's pointless to sit here and speculate. What we _can _do is discreetly nudge the others to the conclusion that she's adopted, simply in the interest of protecting Remus."

Moody nodded. "Seems he's gotten himself in a right peck of trouble."

Sturgis nodded. "Right, then. Not a word on what we know, though. Mum's the word until we have something definite."

Kingsley shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Of course, it's only really our business in regards to whether or not Remus is in it willingly," he said. "Even if he is, he'll only accept help kicking and screaming."

"Nonsense," said Moody, "it's only right to look out for one's allies. After all, one must have CONSTANT VIGILANCE!"

"Remember, only hints," said Kingsley. "He'll be quite upset if he thinks we've been spying on him, and we don't want to anger Snape."

Sturgis nodded. "Right. You tackle Tonks, I'll work on Emaline. The sooner they stop wondering who the girl's mother is the better."

The Floo crackled. Instantly, Kingsley and Sturgis pretended to be completely absorbed in the scrolls – one of which Kingsley had slipped into a pocket – and Moody leaned back in his chair, taking a swig from his flask.

"Oy, there," said Tonks, knocking over the andirons as she clambered out of the fireplace. "Gotten any work done?"

XXX

Remus checked that his pages were in the correct order for the third time before casting a binding spell on the left hand margin. The edges of the pages melted together forming a booklet. Flipping through it to be quite sure nothing was out of place, he smiled to himself.

"I can't believe we didn't see any of this before," he said. "I've you to thank, otherwise I'd never have thought of using something with a prior spell."

Philomena shook her head and laughed. "Anybody could have thought of it. Only you could have done it."

"Me and the rest of the committee," he reminded. "At last I've something positive to report."

"They've only been preliminarily tested," she reminded. "You never know how something might skew the results, especially if they're intended for a battle situation."

He nodded ruefully. "That's so, that's so. But these have ten times the affectivity of a Shield without needed the wielder to concentrate or expend energy on it."

"Yes," Philomena said, "we'll just have to find an object to Ward that everybody can agree on."

"Shan't be to hard," said Remus, "who doesn't have an object with an imbued charm that they use consistently? I always carry a quill, Moody's flask is famous – and even if they didn't, they wear robes with Stay-Fast fasteners, or NeverTrip shoelaces, or…"

She threw her cloak over her shoulders and fastened it at her chin. "Or cloaks with Warming Charms, or unstealable jewelry, or Ever Fresh pants…"

"That last is a bit of a stretch," he said.

She widened her eyes in faux shock. "They don't wear pants?"

He pursed his lips to prevent a smile from escaping – he refused to let her amuse him with such a juvenile joke. "Not the same pants every day."

"I should hope not," she said, wrinkling her nose, truly disgusted this time.

Remus allowed his smile to escape, having won the unspoken game. "Come on, the bearers of good news ought not to be late."

Philomena stepped to the fireplace. "Lets hope there's no other news to counter it," she said, before tossing a handful of Floo Powder into the flames. "Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place!"

Remus followed her a moment later, when he was sure she had time to have stepped clear from the hearth.

XXX


	58. An Abruptly Ended Meeting

**An Abruptly Ended Meeting**

Dumbledore gave a start and shut his book with a snap. It whimpered. "Harry," he said mildly, "whatever are you doing in the restricted section?"

Harry slipped his Invisibility Cloak off and said, "I was looking for you."

"Odd," said Albus, "one doesn't normally look for people after hours in areas one isn't allowed."

"I've had a dream," said Harry. "I'm not sure what it means or if it's real but … I thought you ought to know."

It seemed as though a look of disappointment crossed the Headmaster's face, but it was gone before Harry could be sure.

Albus tossed the book he'd been holding into the air and it gave a shrill taunting laugh as it soared towards its proper location. Harry caught sight of the title, "Concerning the Lamiae," as it whooshed passed his head.

"I'm sure it was some form of Tom Riddle," said Harry, "I'm sure it was him, but he was older, much older – he looked about sixty. But he was still_ human_, so it wasn't Voldemort."

Dumbledore stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Where was he, in the dream?"

"Hospital Wing," explained Harry quickly. "He was lying in one of the beds – he said it was over. He said he was dead."

"He said he was dead?" repeated Dumbleodore, his eyes bright with sudden interest.

"He said he was good as," amended Harry quickly. "You were there, Madam Pomfrey. She said that he was telling the truth and you looked angry. Snape was there too, but he was dead."

"Where we altered as well, physically?" asked Dumbledore, the fingers of one hand twitching.

Harry blinked. "No, it was Christmas Day, _this _Christmas Day. But that's not the point –_that man wasn't Voldemort._ If it's real, if that's what's going to happen, then Voldemort must have some other … memories of himself stored somewhere. There's going to be something horrific happening – Riddle was there and Snape was _dead_."

Dumbledore blinked in thought. "Do you know many girls?" he asked. "There's one I'd like you to meet."

Caught wholly off-guard, Harry bolted upright in his chair. "What's that?"

"Not what, Harry, _who_," admonished Albus with a twinkle. "She'll be at the Order meeting tonight of course. Come along."

"What?" asked Harry again, turning to follow the Headmaster who had started off down the stacks. "Order meeting? Girls? What _are _you talking about? Haven't you been listening to what –"

"Do hurry or we shall be late," said Dumbledore. "Really, I might have forgotten it altogether if you hadn't come and reminded me."

"But I didn't remind you," protested Harry, now in step with the man. "Are you seriously going to take me to an Order meeting in the middle of the night? What about –?"

The Headmaster stopped dead to look him in the face. "My boy," he said, "I don't do _anything _seriously if I can help it."

More confused than he had been for a while, Harry accompanied Dumbledore out of the Castle and Grounds, where they popped away in the lurching discomfort of side-along Apparition.

A split second later they arrived in Grimmauld Place, during the usual scuffle before any one section of the Order managed to seat itself around a table. Dumbledore's seat was a forgone conclusion; the head of the table.

However, the seats at his immediate right and left were coveted and McGonagall made sure to have the right, or, if she could not achieve that, the left. Vance seemed to have a preference for the foot, while Moody liked the seat closest to the exit. Of course, everybody had their list of people they simply would not sit beside, on which Tonks, Moody, and Severus ranked highest.

Philomena knew no one present well enough to have any particular preference, but was intent on taking the spot farthest from Fletcher. This left Remus, who did not scuffle but waited for what was left, between Tonks and Jones.

Dumbledore conjured an extra chair for Harry, which fit barely and awkwardly at the corner between the Headmaster and McGonagall. Harry sat gingerly on the edge of it, while Albus stood behind his own waiting to begin.

There was a bit of chatter while everybody settled, which died down when Dumbledore began to speak.

"We have several interesting bits of news to be unveiled tonight," said Dumbledore, "and I thought it only right that Mr. Potter be here to hear them, seeing as they all concern him closely."

Harry, aware that every eye in the room had turned to study him, gave a curt nod back, but said nothing.

Dumbledore seated himself, and then gestured to Remus to begin.

"To be quick," said Remus, "we have managed to develop a system whereby a Personal Ward can be imbedded into any object imbued with a prior continuous Spell. This will enable the wearer to forgo the usual energy drain required to maintain it, and the distraction of renewal.

"The exact Metaphysics is here, should it be of interest," he continued, dropping the booklet he had prepared onto the table. "The Wards have, unfortunately, only undergone preliminary testing but all results have been positive. I advise that our members each create one and carry it at all times, but by no means become complacent. Should any problems arise, the Ward in question should be returned to the committee for further testing."

Finished, Remus watched in amusement as Sturgis Podmore and Arthur Weasley both reached for the booklet at the same time, only to retreat when Moody took it.

Severus Snape raised an eyebrow as he watched the booklet pass from hand to hand, skimmed by each member in turn. A babble arose which evolved into a quite civilized discussion of the logistics of the idea.

Molly suggested immediate distribution of protective items to the various children connected with the Order, and perhaps the Prefects and Heads at Hogwarts.

McGonagall objected, however, to their being informed of all the details, considering that the better known the Wards were, the easier they would be for the other side to override.

Harry insisted that one had to know how something worked in order to use it properly, and that there was no reason to think they'd babble out details to anybody.

Half an hour later, when this had deteriorated into a repetitious argument, Snape had had enough, and cleared his throat loudly. When he had the attention of all in the room, he rose, giving them a baleful glare.

"The Dark Lord intends to attack Mr. Potter, using a form of Blood Magic, on the twenty-fourth of December," said Snape, ignoring the revulsion of the others. "However, the project to do so has been successfully infiltrated. When complete and activated, the Charm will result not in the death, but the further protection of the boy.

"The exact time of the attack is not yet set, nor have those to carry it out been named, though I am quite sure the Dark Lord will be there personally. We must devise a stratagem to keep the Castle and students safe from attack, and to divert the Dark Lord's attention when he finds his plans have failed." Severus reseated himself and waited for the new uproar to dissipate.

After a moment, Dumbledore silenced them all with a rather large bang from his wand. "Please calm yourselves. The situation will be discussed and debated when we have enough information to formulate a counterstrike. As of now, we only have news of an intention.

"For the moment, a review of the Castle's defenses is in order. Should we receive no further details of the attack before the first of December, we shall of course remove Mr. Potter from Hogwarts for the safety of himself and his fellow students. We could also eliminate the option for staying over the holiday should it seem necessary. There is no immediate cause for panic."

Obligingly, the Order ceased panicking, or at least yelling, at once.

"I will provide more information as I receive it," said Severus.

"I thought you said it was _good _news," said McGonagall crossly. "You had my hopes up."

"It is good," protested Snape. "If the attack is successful it should result in Potter's greater protection, if it fails nothing of ours is lost. The only vaguely upsetting point is that when they find that it doesn't _kill _Potter they might deviate from the plan and try something else – which we have no way of predicting."

"You still look too much like a cat with a canary," protested McGonagall. "What is it you're not telling us?"

Snape smirked. "For some time now, we have been trying to find a way to deprive Lucius Malfoy of his influence on the Ministry. Once the attack fails, the Dark Lord is very likely to deprive the Ministry of Lucius Malfoy."

Bill Weasley stared. "Deprive the Ministry of…"

"Lucius Malfoy," Snape repeated. "That's right. He was assigned the project I … sabotaged. Naturally, he will be blamed when it fails."

"Excuse me," said Harry Potter, "but what exactly is the Spell they're going to be attempting, and just what did you sabotage it to do? – Sir."

With a wicked gleam is his eyes, Severus took his time explaining the intricacies of the Blood Magic, leaving out how he had become involved, considering he was still under oath not to, but including every other detail.

As he was explaining how the Dark Lord's blood was still partially Harry's blood, and therefore contained Lilly Potter's sacrificial protection, he took in the looks of his fellow Order members. Some, like Remus Lupin, were keenly interested. Moody looked suspicious, as did Molly Weasley, some were pretending to understand but quite out of their depths like Jones and Vance.

Podmore interrupted before he could finish. "How did you infiltrate the project without them knowing? How much of a guarantee can you give us that they didn't see through you and set this up as a way to allow them to attack without resistance?"

"It's all a trap," muttered Moody.

Severus stared levelly back at him, jaw set. "If I were not sure, I would not have said so."

"I need more security than that," insisted Podmore. "I think we all do."

"Lets put it this way," said Snape, "the last time the Dark Lord suspected me, he removed my right hand."

"But –" started Vance.

"Obviously," Snape went on, "I managed to have it reattached."

"How?" demanded Moody. "You can't –"

Snape stood and glared over the company. "You have no need for details," he hissed. "Nor will I tell you how I managed to convince him to allow me back. But I _will _tell you that the last time you did not listen to my advice, James and Lilly Potter died."

Absolute silence met that pronouncement. Remus shot a worried glance toward Harry – who was staring at Snape with a calculating look in his eyes.

"Of course," sneered Snape, "that misfortune turned out to be rather beneficial globally, did it not?"

He seemed about to say something further, but whirled away from the table, crossing his arms. He'd been summoned, though he felt no reason to let them know. "Excuse me."

Without another word he Disapparated with a crack.

"Bugger," whispered Tonks.

Harry looked after him in amazement, shook his head and then abruptly left the room, not wanting half a dozen people asking him what he thought or whether he was all right. His scar twitched as he shut the door of the forbidden study after him.

"Remus," interrupted Dumbledore delicately, "if you would…?"

Lupin rose and followed after, shutting the door softly behind him.

"I suppose that's that for tonight, then," said McGonagall briskly. "Any further discussion can take place individually."

"Circe's cat!" whispered Sturgis. "Well, at least we won't have to report tonight."


	59. Snakes, Secrets and Snape

**Snakes, Secrets and Snape**

Remus knocked lightly on the study door as the rest of the Order dispersed. There was no answer. "Harry?" he asked, knocking again.

A curious hissing sound came from the other side of the door. Of a sudden, Remus was seized by a sudden irrational sense of dread. He wrenched the door open and stepped inside, heart pounding.

Harry lay sprawled on the floor, unmoving. The drawer of the great desk, which Sirius had insisted not be touched or moved, was opened, gaping and empty, forced from the wall it had stood at for decades by force strong enough to leave deep gouges on the floor. Coiled on the boy's chest was the transparent image of a serpent.

Remus drew his wand and took a cautious step forward. He heard footsteps behind him and saw Bill and Philomena from the corner of his eye.

"Don't…" whispered Harry, hoarsely, "it's not…"

The serpent hissed, seemingly angry, and Harry answered in kind, careful not to move.

"It's a Sanctum Sanctorum," whispered Bill. "It won't hurt him, best not to interfere."

Harry let out a prolonged hiss, before moving one hand to wave them away.

Bill took Remus' arm and pushed him out the door, shutting it behind them. Remus lost no time in casting a Spell to enable them to see through the door.

"A 'Sanctum Sanctorum'?" asked Philomena.

"Holy of Holies?" translated Remus. "What in the name of –"

"A bit of a misnomer," said Bill. "It's actually a variation of the Fidelius – safer since it doesn't use people, but not as well used since it's mildly Dark. The old families used them often to safeguard their deepest secrets. I'm assuming it's latched to Harry as the only one who could take its message. It must have been in there for ages…"

"Sirius said the room was cursed," said Remus, watching Harry sit up as the snake slowly slithered to the floor.

Bill shrugged. "It's not that unusual – as with every secret there'll be some that don't want it out and would start a rumor like that to prevent undue interest. Black probably didn't know more than he'd been told."

The Snake slid back into the drawer of the desk, which slammed itself shut. The desk shot into position on the wall with a horrid scritching sound and a final bang. Harry got up and retrieved his wand, a nonplussed look on his face.

Just as Remus Dispelled the Charm, Harry joined them in the hallway.

"Just which one of you declared that room clear?" he demanded.

Remus blinked. "I think Moody said there was nothing dangerous."

"But I know Sirius claimed it was cursed," the boy continued, pocketing his wand. "He was right. I was just talking to Voldemort's pet. Isn't Moody's eye supposed to see things like that?"

Harry," said Bill, "the snake wasn't real. It's simply the manifestation of a spell which –"

"Activated because I could understand it - dSanctum Sanctorum," said Harry shortly, "Yes, I'd realized. It still should have been found. If it had decided to address someone who couldn't speak Parseltongue, who knows what it would have done? If you've overlooked that, there could be _anything_. Maybe even –"

"What was the secret?" interrupted Remus urgently.

Harry Potter laughed grimly. "Nothing I didn't know. The Prophecy, what of it he knew back then. He was afraid something would happen when he attacked me, that he would need to be reminded… " He broke off with an odd sounding laugh. "He was right."

Lupin and Bill exchanged glances.

"I'll go see if Dumbledore is still here," said Philomena, slipping past them to move back down the hall. "I'll be right back."

Harry's mouth formed an unnerving grin. "I've heard his secret," he said with a laugh, sounding almost crazed. "…where he keeps his secrets!"

"Harry!" Lupin took hold of the boy's shoulders and shook him slightly. "Stop it!"

Harry swallowed convulsively and seemed to come back to his senses. He shook his head slowly. "It's so simple," he whispered, "why didn't any of us think of it?"

Remus took a deep breath. "Explain," he asked, trying to keep his face patient. "What else did that thing tell you?"

"If you were Voldemort," asked Harry abruptly, turning to Bill, "who would you tell your secrets?"

"He made a Sanctum," said Bill, trying for a calming tone, separating Harry from Remus. "And it's told you some things what've upset you. Why don't we go to the kitchen and have some nice hot tea while we wait for Dumbledore."

"You'd tell somebody that nobody else could talk to," said Harry. "You'd tell a snake."

Remus nodded. "Yes, we know that, you've just talked to it. What else did it tell you?"

Harry shook his head. "It didn't know the rest. It said that I should remember that I'd told the hatchling."

Bill blinked. "The … hatchling? Remus, what…?"

"Tell me, Remus," said Harry. "How long do snakes tend to live?"

Dumbledore arrived, following Philomena closely. Remus was dimly aware of her and Bill as they tried to explain what had happened.

"Headmaster," said Harry, interrupting them all, "I have got to talk to Nagini."

XXX

Severus Disapparated from the site of the meeting, wishing, as always, that the Dark Mark did not automatically send him back to exactly where he had come from. The Dark Lord took no chances when it came to security.

He stared at number twelve, wondering whether it was worth the bother to see why the lights were still burning, or if he should simply go back to Hogwarts and report. On the off chance that Dumbledore was still at Headquarters, he reluctantly entered, ready to repel anyone who dared to question him on either his absence or his unusual departure.

Once inside, he heard the jumbled voices of several people arguing fiercely. He shut the door behind him and stood still for a moment to allow the doormat to Banish the mud from his boots, before following the noise into the kitchen.

"I don't care how!" Potter was shouting. "It needs to be done. If I could take out Quirrel when I was eleven I can sure as death _talk _to a snake!"

"Not without getting past the Death Eaters," said Remus, with a tired sort of patience.

"That's what Snape is for," argued Harry. "I'm telling you, it'd be easy with the cloak –all I need is about twenty minutes alone with her. If anybody knows how to defeat Voldemort –"

"Speaking of Snape, you might want to look to your left," said Bill, who was straddling a chair, leaning his chin on the back of it.

Philomena was perched on the counter, elbow resting on one of her crossed legs, chin in one hand, watching the proceedings bemusedly.

"Severus, my boy," said Dumbledore, "Harry here has just unearthed a Sanctum Sanctorum!"

"Unearthed, broom polish!" said Harry hotly. "It hurtled out of a desk and jumped on my chest."

Snape met Remus' eye. The other man merely shook his head mildly.

"You were right about the room, Severus," said the Headmaster. "Have a biscuit."

Severus took a deep breath and let it out again before reaching into his cloak and drawing out the vial of blood the Dark Lord had entrusted to him. He set it on the table with a thud. The contents gave a minuscule, though still sickening thwash inside the glass.

Bill recoiled, scooting his chair back a bit. "Whose is that?"

"The Dark Lord's," said Severus shortly. "I shall need a personal item of yours, Potter."

"Never be in a hurry," interrupted Dumbledore, taking the vial and holding it up to the light. "It wastes time."

"If you don't mind," said Harry, "can I know what you're going to do, first?"

"Might I know what hair brained scheme of yours involved following me into a personal confrontation with the Dark Lord?" demanded Severus. If you think that that is what I am_ for, _then you are _for _providing us with whatever means necessary to defeat him."

"According to a Sanctum Sanctorum, most probably left in a desk by You-Know-Who," interrupted Bill.

"What do you mean, 'probably?" cut in Harry. "I'm telling you, that I am_ absolutely sure_. What other Parselmouths have there been in the last century!"

"Most probably left in desk by You-Know-Who," repeated Bill, "Nagini is his Secret Keeper."

"Yes," said Snape, "we all knew that."

There was an uncomfortable pause, as everybody looked at him. Dumbledore shook his head, slowly.

"Oh for Merlin's sake!" swore Severus. "It was plain as the nose on my face!"

"You must have forgotten to mention it," said Dumbledore. "Which reminds me, I really _must _send Silvia a thank you note for those delightful –"

"You _knew _that Voldemort had a secret keeper, and –"

Snape grabbed Potter's chin, and shoved him towards the table. "You will not used that name," he hissed.

"Severus!" admonished Dumbledore just as Remus shouted, "Snape!"

Harry righted himself and brought one hand to his jaw, glaring mutinously at Snape.

"Mr. Potter," whispered Snape, gripping the edge of his cloak in one hand without seeming to notice, "if you cannot remember the _simplest _instruction I have ever given you, _how _do you expect me to lead you to the Dark Lord?"

"Nobody's leading anybody to the Dark Lord," said Remus. "Everybody sit down, calm down and be quiet, please."

Harry sat automatically, Snape merely glared, and Dumbledore looked slightly amused.

"Now," said Remus sternly, "you will both be civil."

"Two galleons says they won't," said Dumbledore. "Any takers?"

"I wasn't born yesterday," said Philomena sardonically.

"And I work with Goblins," said Bill.

"Enough!" snapped Severus. "Mr. Potter – you should know that whether or not Nagini is a secret keeper is immaterial."

"She is," muttered Harry under his breath.

"It is immaterial because, at the present time, we have no way of speaking to her," continued Snape as though he hadn't heard. "Even if I managed to smuggle you into his inner rooms, he would still _hear _you talk to his _pet. _She is not a mere owl, Potter, and she is never left alone. If the Dark Lord can be said to hold any one thing dear, it is she."

"I don't care how, we need –"

"No," snapped Severus. "_We _need to keep you alive at least until after the Christmas attack. _You _need to listen to those in charge of your care and _follow _our leads or you will get not only yourself, but us all, _killed._ Surely even you are not too stupid to understand that? You are dealing with human life. Human life! Do you understand?

"This is not a chess game where the pieces get up afterwards and put themselves away. One slip by you, one slip by any of us, can be disastrous. I will not be questioned by you, I will not be lead by you, and I will not allow you to destroy what hope we have left. Is that understood?"

"Now, Severus," began Dumbledore.

"He's right," interrupted Harry. "He's right and I'm sorry."

"The Dark Lord summoned me this evening and has instructed me to infuse a personal object of yours with the Blood Magic we have developed, believing it will destroy you when he activates it for his Christmas attack," said Severus crisply. "I have, as I said in the meeting, infiltrated his plans and the Charms will protect you to the fullest extent possible."

Harry nodded.

"The sooner I report success, the happier, and therefore the less cautious he will be," said Snape.

"Severus," said Remus cautiously, "isn't this a bit reckless?"

"Of course it is," snapped the Potions Master. "I thought that was what you Gryffindors enjoyed."

"It's protection, right?" asked Harry rhetorically, "and you've all been telling me for years I ought to trust the Professor, right? … What sort of object did you have in mind?"

"Something you carry with you," said Snape, "any infantile good luck charm will do."

Harry removed his glasses and set them on the table. "Go ahead."


	60. Another Bloody Order Meeting

**Another Bloody Order Meeting**

Philomena slid from her perch on the counter to stand by the kitchen table and neatly snatched the glasses before Snape could take them. She perched them on her nose and recoiled. "Merlin's Tomb!" She pulled them off again and blinked. "These are worse than a –" she broke off abruptly, when Snape plucked them from her fingers.

"Aren't you being a bit hasty?" asked Kingsley, stepping into the room from where he'd been watching the scene. "We ought to let Snape finish his report on the Blood Magic after all. And perhaps he would like to explain why he was called away."

Dumbledore stroked his beard slowly. "No."

Snape whirled about to protest, glasses in one hand, the other curled in an aborted reach for the vial on the table. "Albus –"

"No," continued Dumbledore, "I don't think I'm being hasty at all. Harry, perhaps, is – but he's a Gryffindor after all."

"Mr. Potter," said Severus, "in spite of your rather paltry skills and poor judgment, it seems –"

"I say, that's a bit harsh, Professor," interrupted Bill. "He's not –"

" – to me that the events of a few days past involving a certain rather _jolting _experience ought to have made it clear, even to you, that I have every intention of keeping your miserable life intact long enough for us to make use of it," finished Snape.

"Yes, sir," said Harry. "I've already _said_ I agreed with the plan."

"It is up to Harry to decide whom to trust," said Remus. "I'm quite sure Severus knows what he's doing."

"It's not a matter of trust," said Kingsley, "it's a matter of knowing what one's agreeing to."

"Blood Magic is a tricky business, Harry," said Bill. "You have to understand that a lot of things could go wrong, and you're placing your life in the –"

"I think I understand what the Professor was trying to explain," interrupted Harry. "And I think, as its my protection we're talking about, and you've agreed to just about every other stupid – " he broke off and took a deep breath. "What I mean is," he went on, "that it makes every bit of sense to me to allow the Professor to perform a Spell, not only to ensure my safety, but to lull Voldemort into a false sense of security allowing us to get close enough to strike."

"It is, of course, your choice," said Dumbledore, "in the end. However, before you make a final decision, I should like you to meet that girl I was telling you about."

Severus made and exasperated motion with one hand before stalking to the window to stare at the courtyard below, arms crossed and face set in a scowl.

"I'm assuming, sir," said Philomena, "you would like me to read for him?"

"Er…" said Harry, realizing abruptly that he hadn't bothered to ask who she was and offering his hand to shake, "I'm Harry."

She took it, resisting, for the moment, the blue flame dancing at his wrist, and shook once. "Philomena Lupin."

"Lupin's daughter," spat Severus from the window, "before you bother to ask."

Harry shot Remus a questioning glance, and received a bemused nod in return. Bill and Kingsley exchanged a look, before returning their attention to the Headmaster.

"I did indeed hope you could read for him," said Dumbledore, "I should like to know what probable outcomes you can See."

"You're a Seer?" Harry asked her skeptically.

She smiled wryly. "I see you've had rather a bad experience with my kind," she said.

Harry narrowed his eyes at her.

"Don't look at me like that, I'm not reading your mind," she chided. "I'm simply quite used to disbelief."

"She sees possible futures, Harry," Remus explained. "I don't suppose it could hurt to have some idea of how things might turn out."

"I already have an idea of how things might turn out," protested Harry. "There's no need for visions and tea leaves."

"This is ridiculous," said Kingsley. "How long can it take for you to explain the Spells fully so that everybody involved knows what's going on, Snape?"

"It's seems simple enough to me," said Remus. "Snape was asked to create Blood Magic to destroy Harry. He's created a method to protect him instead, and has disguised its purpose. Whether or not our enemies attack, and whether or not Harry is able to strike can be worked out and planned later. Right now, its obvious that Severus is quite tired and hasn't much time to waste."

"Not tired," groused Snape halfheartedly, "but at least one of you managed to grasp what's going on."

Albus smiled to himself. Yes, Severus knew what he was doing, and here was a perfect opportunity to prove his trust in his spy. Not to mention that any added protection for Harry would be to their advantage. Remus was right – further details and planning could wait for another time, preferably when Snape had not just returned from a meeting with Lord Voldemort.

"You're right, Lupin," said Kingsley, before Dumbledore could speak, "Snape's a good hand with his theory, I'll trust it's sound."

Harry bit back a groan of frustration. He really didn't understand anything anymore – all he'd wanted was to tell the Headmaster his dream, but he'd been dragged along to a meeting, where he'd been argued with and over. He was tired, confused, and wanted nothing more than to go back to Gryffindor tower, fall into his four-poster and forget about Blood Magic, strange Seers, and Voldemort, until the morning bell.

"If we are all agreed," asked the Headmaster blithely, "then Severus may perform the Spells."

Like lightning Snape shot across the room and rolled up his sleeves. "Get out of the way."

Bill scootched his chair backwards with a sickening screech, as Philomena and Harry scrambled out of the way. Snape set the glasses carefully on the table and uncorked the vial, using a steady hand to let several drops splash on the lenses.

"Ew," Philomena muttered, wincing and looking the other way. "How can you stand to _touch _that?"

"They're my glasses he's pouring it on," said Harry. "No point in your being upset over it."

"Quiet," demanded Snape, going on with his careful application of drops, until the vial was empty and the lenses of Harry's glasses covered with a film of deep red.

"That's a new way of looking at the world through rose colored glasses," said Dumbledore cheerily.

"Quiet," said Severus again, drawing his Wand. He began to Chant a steady stream of Anglo-Saxon. "Beadu-weork bealcetan blod!"

A fiery blast shot from his Wand and enveloped the glasses, lifting them in the air, where they looked fairly ridiculous spinning around in a steady circle, as the Magic pulsed about them.

"Bletsung bygirden bearn!" A cold silver stream of Magic slammed into the first pulse with such force that it propelled the glasses in the opposite direction.

Of a sudden, the Magic erupted into a flurry of sparks, crackling with a blazing fury. The only one in the room unconcerned, Snape reached into the center of the flames and caught the glasses as they turned, slamming into his hand with a satisfying thwack.

The Magic swirled about his hand in a final pulse, before dissolving into the glasses with a sound like a sigh.

"There you are," said Professor Snape, handing them to Harry.

Harry took them gingerly, strangely surprised that they were not hot, and examined them. "They're clear," he said.

Indeed, no trace of either Magic or blood seemed to remain.

"Of course," said Snape, sheathing his wand. "Have a care you don't lose them."

Harry replaced them on his face and blinked – normal. "Thanks."

Dumbledore clapped happily. "There, then, that's settled. Severus, if you'd come with me a moment, I've a few things to speak to you about. Harry, my boy, keep the young lady company, I shan't be long."

Snape followed the Headmaster out of the room, distractedly rolling his sleeves back down.

"He's never lost a hand," said Kingsley, as soon as they were out of hearing. "Not a scar on his wrist."

"Ever heard of Glamours?" asked Philomena sarcastically. "Disguise Spells? Prosthetics?"

Kingsley shrugged. "Doesn't seem plausible, he's far too coordinated for it to be a prosthetic."

"He said he'd reattached it," said Remus, "and I've shaken his hand, it's real enough. If you get medical attention promptly its quite possible to repair."

"True," agreed Bill, "I nearly lost a finger once – stupid Ramses II. He had a Curse in his tomb, set to go off if you _sneezed. _Sadistic man, really. He _knew _it'd be fullof dust by the time anybody got past the other traps he'd set up, and –"

"Yes, yes," interrupted Kinglsey, "but you have to agree it's a bit strange. If You-Know-Who removed it, he certainly wasn't sent off to St. Mungos on a stretcher, and the Death Eaters wouldn't have given him a hand … I mean …" He broke off, flustered. "Bad choice of words."

"Yes it was," said Philomena coldly. "You have no idea what he does for you. You've no right to question him."

"Don't get so riled up," Bill admonished. "It's not as though it matters _now._ He's got his hand, after all." Before anybody could answer, the red-head got up. "I've got to get back anyhow," he went on, "promised my team I'd be there for pudding." He retrieved his dragonhide jacket from the chair he'd draped it over and shrugged into it. "Take care of yourselves."

"Travel safe," said Remus.

"Bye," called Harry, watching Bill Floo from the cottage with a wave.

There was a moment of awkward silence.

"I have to be off, too," said Kingsley suddenly. "Good night."

"Good night," returned the others, as he left the room.

Harry sighed and slumped in his chair. "I'll never wake up in time for breakfast."

"I don't suppose you will," said Remus softly. "Care to tell me why you're here at all?"

"Headmaster brought me," said Harry. "Not sure why – I just wanted to tell him about this dream I'd had, wondered if it was sent by Voldemort, or just … and he dragged me along, said he wanted me to meet a girl."

Philomena tsked sympathetically. "A dream?"

Harry nodded. "They've meant things before, been prophetic before, but I'm … well, I'm never sure if _He's_ sending them, or if…"

"Men don't have prophetic dreams spontaneously," said Remus. "Coincidental, or sent – you _have _been working to Occlude, haven't you?"

Philomena surveyed Harry, head to one side. "Well, he's not precisely normal, is he? He's a Parselmouth, connected, as I understand it, with the Dark One. If he could receive a bit of his attacker with the curse, I'm sure some of his mother's talents could have been transferred along with her sacrifice."

"My mum wasn't a Seer," dismissed Harry. "It doesn't matter anyway – it was probably just a really strange dream, and –"

"You have her eyes," said Philomena softly, looking in to his, "or so they tell me. You've had prophetic dreams before? Tell me about them."

Harry fidgeted. "Well, nothing special you know. I'd have the dream, and … then it would happen, you know? But they're from Voldemort – either he sends them or they leak over the connection."

"Ever have one which did not involve the Dark Lord," asked Philomena, still staring at his eyes.

Harry blinked, trying to remember. "I had a dream about a flying motorcycle, once," he said, "when I was little. Turned out Sirius had one, but… but that's … it wasn't clear, it was just a coincidence."

Philomena merely looked at him.

"And I've had dreams about the night my parents died," continued Harry. "But that's not prophetic that's … that goes the other way 'round – started having them after I knew what they looked like, Mirror of Erised you know, but they're … they're accurate and I know _that _because I hear them with the Dementors."

Remus lay a hand on his shoulder, Harry shrugged it off impatiently.

"I dreamt my Patronus form before I knew what it was – but I _was _working on it, and Hermione says the form comes from within so I suppose that's natural. Then all last year, there were the ones Voldemort sent with the corridors and dead things. I had a dream earlier, but I showed it to Snape and he said it was rubbish."

Philomena took a deep breath. "There are times when a person's Magic is not … constituted normally. Parseltongue is not a human ability, yet you posses it. It shouldn't be too odd that a very mild prophetic gift could be yours as well. And Lily Potter was a Seer – she wrote about, I think it was about how difficult it was to interpret Visions properly."

"My mother wrote a book?" asked Harry. "Why didn't anyone ever – what's it called?"

"Oh, they probably didn't know, it was an article in Seers Society," said Philomena, "I can send you a copy, if you'd like. I think it very probable you've her gift – your dreams have been … increasing in frequency?"

Harry shrugged. "People have dreams all the time. Some of them are completely ridiculous, like … like about Cho and the hundreds of chocolate frog cards." He broke off, blushing furiously before babbling, "I mean – not that there was anything – oh Merlin."

Remus hid a smile.

"And some are just nightmares, like about Cedric or my parents," Harry went on, after taking a deep breath to compose himself. "It's … It's hard to explain, some are just … just…"

"Different?" suggested Philomena. "They're too vivid, and they seem to make sense, but their meaning is just out of reach, like a word you can't remember."

Harry nodded. "Do you see in dreams?" he asked.

Philomena shook her head. "No, but I can call Visions," she answered. "You have to understand, that what you dream is … what any Seer sees, is… not the future, but a possible future. The future is not fixed, after all. What you see is a glimmer of something possible with relatively high probability.

"You think there might be something to it then?" asked Harry, "they're not all from _him?_"

She nodded. "It must have been quite a dream for you to have wanted to tell the Headmaster. What was it?"

He took a deep breath. "I knew it was Christmas day," he started, "I don't know how, but I _know_ it was this Christmas, so if it's real it'll happen in a month."

Philomena nodded. "Holidays are typical for sent Visions," she said, "since unusually large numbers of people have high and emotions and expectations at the same time. There are a lot of plans, and a lot of them clash – there are so many possibilities that the probability of one being sent is far higher."

"It was Christmas Day," repeated Harry, "and it was in the Hospital Wing. I'm not sure… where I was, because I couldn't see myself. Voldemort was lying there, but he was more … human, like a normal sixty year old man."

Remus frowned, listening intently.

"Snape was on the next bed – he was dead," said Harry.

"Dead?" asked Remus in alarm, "are you sure?"

Philomena caught his eye and shook her head slightly, warning him not to interfere. "So the Professor was dead," she said. "Do you know how he died?"

Harry shut his eyes, remembering. "His body was unmarked," he said. "Avada Kedavra, I think. Nobody seemed to pay any attention to it, though – Dumbledore was there, and Madam Pomfrey, but … they acted as though he wasn't there at all."

Philomena nodded slowly. "And Voldemort, this human version of him, was injured?"

Harry shook his head. "He didn't seem to be hurt, but he was confined on the bed – makes sense, if they'd caught him. He was… he was arguing with Dumbledore, telling him that it made no sense to confine him, because he was dead."

"Because Snape was dead?" asked Philomena.

"No, Voldemort," clarified Harry. "Voldemort was saying that he himself was as good as dead, that he didn't matter anymore. Dumbledore was angry, said it was impossible, but Pomfrey said that medically, at least, he was telling the truth."

Remus shook his head slowly. "It's impossible to be dead and not to be, Harry."

Harry gave an exasperated jerk of the head. "I _know _that, all right?" he said. "But he _was _in the dream – he was Riddle, not Voldemort, as though that part of him was dead. It's… I _know _it was real."

The boy got up and paced agitatedly. "I _know _it was, it was … it was like the dream about Mr. Weasley, except – except I was _me _in this one, not inside a Snake, or in Voldemort – I might not have been there, but I was _me. _

"Whatever it is, it'll happen on Christmas. I wish I hadn't woken up, or I'd have found out what happened to Snape and we could do something about it…" Harry looked from one to the other. "You both think I'm mental, don't you?"

"No," said Philomena simply. "There's merely a strong possibility that things like you described happen as you dreamt them. There isn't always … these things are hardly ever clear except in hindsight."

"Then it's bloody useless to have foresight," said Harry bitterly. "Doesn't _help_."

Remus took a hissing breath. "Harry, it's – you have to remember that these things you see are not fixed. It doesn't do to avoid them completely, of course, but you shouldn't be so certain in what you believe will come that you lose all focus in the present.

"What you saw can be avoided or diverted," he went on, "and there's also a possibility that what you saw could mean something very different than you think."

Philomena nodded. "Sometimes the most sensible interpretation turns out to be completely off the mark," she said. "It could very well be that, in the scenario you saw for instance, Snape wasn't really dead – especially since he was unmarked."

"But he was lying there," protested Harry, "I saw him, he was dead."

"It could have been someone under Polyjuice," suggested Remus, "or he could have been under a Stasis Charm of some sort."

"Draught of Living Death," put in Philomena. "Or a coma."

Harry nodded shakily. "And Voldemort? What explanation, even an unreasonable explanation, is there for _that_?"

"None I can think of," lied Remus.

His daughter shot him a sharp look, but said nothing.

"So it doesn't make any sense and even if it did it doesn't matter," said Harry. "Dumbledore could have just said so and sent me back to bed hours ago."

"Indeed I could have," said Albus, coming into the room. "But this was so much more fun, don't you think?"

Harry shrugged sullenly.

"And there's no need to tell you what happened in today's meeting, either," the Headmaster continued. "Especially since it concerned you so closely. Those glasses all right?"

Harry gave a nod.

Snape came into the room, and swept towards Harry. "A word, Mr. Potter, before the Headmaster takes you back."

Confused, Harry gave another nod, and was lead to the corner of the room.

"Albus, Harry's dream," began Remus.

"Yes," interrupted Albus. "He told me. Very … interesting."

"Interesting?" Remus erupted, before trying to control his voice. "Your main operative is lying dead, while a strangely transformed version of our greatest enemy chats with you? All you can think of to say is, 'interesting'?"

"It could mean any of a number of things," Dumbledore placated. "Including that Harry simply had an interesting dream."

"But it could also mean that Snape is in mortal danger," protested Remus. "We have to do something!"

"Severus is always in mortal danger," said Dumbledore gravely. "Nothing we can do can change that. It is his choice. I have already informed him of the dream, and he insists no weight be given to his safety in our plans."

Remus shook his head. "Some weight must be," he insisted. "It what makes us different from them. That we hold to our own."

Dumbledore nodded seriously, before giving a conspiratorial grin. "I never said that I _agreed_ to do as Severus suggested."

Remus nodded with a sigh, relieved that, in his own way, Dumbledore had agreed with him.

"I'm assuming you meant for me to explain prophetic dreams to him," said Philomena. "Though why your Divination Professor couldn't do that is beyond me."

"Doing so is beyond _her,_" said Dumbledore simply. "Thank you, my dear."

Philomena smiled. "You will let me know if my skills are needed."

"Of course, of course," said Dumbledore, pulling a Lethifold Lollipop out of his sleeve and handing it to her. "A good night to you both."

Philomena stared at the skewered, leathery candy, that she'd accepted automatically, with a grimace. "That man," she said, "is slightly insane."

Remus smiled wryly. "Let's go home."

They said their goodbyes, and Flooed back to the cottage.


	61. Discussions, Dreams and Deceptions

**Discussions, Dreams and Deceptions**

"I'd thank you not to inform the Headmaster the next time your dream contains my untimely demise," snarled Snape in an undertone to Harry, having pulled him aside.

"I'm sorry," said Harry, "but you weren't there, and he asked…"

"The last time you had the common sense to show your dream to me, first," reminded Snape, "and this one is as useless as that one was. I assure you that I am in no worse danger than any of us. Keep your dreams to yourself – you saw what good following them did last year."

A stab of anger shot through Harry before he forcibly calmed himself down. "I'm sorry, Professor," he said, through clenched teeth. "I had thought it was more about Voldemort than you."

"Not that _name_!" snarled Snape. "Can't you remember _one simple _instruction?"

Harry winced. "Sorry," he muttered, not sorry at all.

Snape's frown did not lessen. "I'm sorry is a useless phrase, invented to –"

"In order to create the illusion of having negated the past," finished Harry. "You said that."

"You remember the most useless things, Potter," snapped Snape, turning away.

"What … what was that Spell you did?" asked Harry. "I mean, what did it mean?"

"Now he asks," muttered Snape to himself, before giving a tired sigh. "The offensive component is 'Beadu-weork bealcetan blod,' and means roughly, 'Imbue the art of war in blood.' The protective, which I really needn't have bothered to add, is, 'Bletsung bygirden bearn,' or, 'to bestow blessing upon a child.' Much as the modern Standard Spells are in adulterated Latin or Greek, Blood Magic is generally in horrible Ango-Saxon. Little attention is paid to grammar or, at times, even to pronunciation, as long as the Intent is present, the ingredients are correct, et cetera."

Harry nodded, then laughed. "Bygirden.' "Sounds like 'putting on a belt.'"

Snape shrugged. "I always thought it sounded more like a particularly unappetizing porridge."

"Is any porridge appetizing?" asked Dumbledore, joining them. "Really, boys, this is hardly the time to be discussing breakfast. And your pronunciation really is marvelous – haven't heard as good since my mother died. Good old Uncle Osric was ever so upset, you know, and just went on and on in the old tongue, was a real droner, that one … drove us all nearly mad."

Harry blinked, unsure what to say, and finding it hard to believe that somebody as seemingly ever-old as Dumbledore could have had a mother.

"Is that what caused it," said Snape blandly.

Dumbledore rocked on his heels. "Might have caused my unfortunate humming habit, though its always been considered a Dumbledore's birthright. Pity it shan't be carried on. Pity, pity."

"I see no reason to stay here," said Snape pointedly. "Potter needs to be brought back before he is missed, and Professor McGonagall is probably taking over my patrolling shift."

The Headmaster nodded, as he handed a jar of Floo Powder to Harry. "Back to Hogwarts, then." Albus began to hum the school song, or rather, the tune he generally sang the school song to.

"Call for Dumbledore's office," snapped Snape irritably, when he saw Potter's hesitation. "Even you couldn't err by more than two offices."

XXX

Philomena, having arrived at home before her father, floofed onto the couch. A moment later, Remus ducked under the mantelpiece and then leaned against it as the green flame died.

"You lied," she accused, swinging her feet up to the opposite arm of the couch.

"I have, on occasion," he said.

"You _could_ think of a reason for the Dark One to look as he did in the dream," she clarified. "It was written plain as day all over your face."

Remus frowned. "Yes, but there was no reason for Harry to … it was better to reassure him."

"Some day," she said, "you are going to realize that hiding things for his own good is exactly the same thing as other people doing insane things for _your _own good – and we all know how much you hate that."

"It's nothing he doesn't know," said Remus, "since he was there the first time it happened. He simply hasn't put two and two together, and if it gives him momentary peace of mind now, and a feeling of accomplishment when he does find out on his own later, why should I say anything?"

She crossed an arm to pillow her head on. "What exactly _is _this strange mysterious thing that he already knows but hasn't put together yet?"

"There was an incident a few years back, where a stored memory-version of You-Know-Who attempted to bring itself into full human form," he said. "It was kept in a diary, and tried to leach the soul from one of the Weasley children to sustain itself. Fortunately, Harry stabbed the diary with a Basilisk tooth in time, and –"

Philomena shot him a bemused look. "I've a feeling there's an extremely long and convoluted story to that, but if you don't mind, how about just bare bones. The Dark Lord had a memory of himself, in a diary?"

Remus nodded.

"And this could have become corporal if it hadn't been killed?" she went on.

He nodded again.

"So, you think he might have something similar, somewhere, which could, in theory, come back after his death?"

"More or less," he said. "Of course, there _is _a question of when he could have made the memory. He already looked rather demonic at his fall, and he was fifty-five then – I'd say the last time he could be said to have looked human would be at about thirty…"

"Maybe Harry's not the best judge of age," she said.

Remus shook his head. "He-Who-Mustn't-Be-Named has always had a great charisma, and when he was young, he was an extremely good looking man. Certainly not one to describe as old, let alone sixty."

"Are you certain this process he used to preserve himself accurately represents how he looked at the time of creation?" she asked. "I suppose it could form a human version of himself, regardless of how far into the Dark – and anything what could do this would be very Dark – he'd actually progressed…"

"I don't know, really," he sighed. "There's a great secrecy in the Magics involving immortality or resurrection. They don't even have proper names, and those few that do are so rare and taboo you could hardly do research, unless you _were _immortal.

"Or had nothing else to do," she said.

He frowned. "At any rate, you'll have to admit that it's far to speculative to bother Harry about it."

She nodded, frowning. "It's interesting, though. His dreams do seem to show a prophetic pattern – it's not generally transferable, but I suppose it's never really happened like that before."

"Self sacrifice is powerful magic," he agreed. "It might just have left him with a residual Seer gift of sorts. It would explain a lot about his abilities – he's a natural flyer, too."

"Parselmouth as well," she went on. "Triad."

He moved from the fireplace to join her, intrigued. "It's an idea, that. Each one gave him a gift that night. He's got his father's athletic abilities, and his killer's linguistic talent. Why shouldn't he have received his mother's as well?"

"It's not as though a man couldn't _channel," _she said. "It's happened, their being a Medium, so I suppose it isn't really that odd, if you think of him as a repository of Magic she left behind."

She slid her feet over to give him room to sit, which he did. "I can't imagine why Dumbledore hadn't let him know of that possibility, too, after last year. You see – he went and followed an … illusion sent by You-Know-Who last year, with disastrous results. You can imagine what that … that Harry would … not sleep well, be afraid to dream. That … to let him believe that You-Know-Who was the only possible source for…"

She sighed. "That was the thing with your friend? Sirius?"

He nodded. "Aye."

"You know," she said, shifting a bit to look him in the face, "it would help a great deal, when you decide to tell me random bits of your life story, if you actually explained who people were. Took me a deuce of a time to learn that your James was _that _James, and your Peter was _that _Peter. And then a bit more to discern who were on what side, and what happened when."

"I do have a habit of assuming people know already," he apologized. "You might've asked if things weren't clear… when _did _I say all that in the first place?"

She shrugged. "Before the moon. Speaking of which, how much time before…?"

"A week," he said. "Sunday, the tenth."

"Think he'll make it this time?"

Remus glanced at the moon out the window, almost full. "He's more important things to think about. If he doesn't arrive, I shall lock myself in again."

She grimaced. "Then we put a Cushioning Charm on the door. We can't have you cracking your skull again."

"It'll be all right," he said. "We're resilient creatures."

"We?" Philomena repeated, giving a toss of her head. "Speak for yourself!"

XXX

"I still don't understand," Harry was saying, as Severus stepped out of the fireplace. "Why – "

"I find certain things are a great deal more understandable when I've slept on them," said Dumbledore simply.

"He needs sleep as it is, tomorrow is Monday," reminded Snape dryly. "If you fall asleep in my class, Potter, I shall not give you any extra consideration."

"So, just a detention without extra loss of points?" Harry shot back. "Thank you, sir, most generous."

"I rather think Severus was less concerned about your alertness, and more concerned that you take a hint for a hint, and leave," said Dumbledore. "I imagine he's got a fair bit of yelling to do yet."

Harry nodded tiredly. "May I go now, then?"

"Floo to the Gryffindor Common Room," said Dumbledore. "And sleep well."

"Good night." Harry Flooed out with a whirr of flame.

As soon as he was gone, Snape allowed himself to grimace in pain and slide into the nearest chair. "Merlin's Toes."

"Do you need Poppy?" asked Albus in concern. "You should have said he hurt you at once, Severus, especially considering your recent accidents, and –"

"I've got a headache, not Cruciatus aftershock," snapped Severus. "Really, if the Dark Lord cursed his followers that regularly, he wouldn't have any. Purebloods have notoriously week hearts."

"I see," said Dumbledore. "In that case, you really ought to get to bed."

Severus fell back in his chair. "Just let me finish telling you about my summons," he said.

Albus nodded. "You left off where you were given the blood."

Snape nodded. "Yes. After that, he dismissed those not involved with the project. He announced that he intends to attack Christmas Eve."

Albus' eyes glittered, a colder, more calculating glitter than usual.

"It's intended to be quite small," Severus went on, "as his sole object is to destroy Potter and he believes that will be easy – He, and those who know about the project."

"How detailed is his plan?" asked Dumbledore.

"The Dark Lord never makes detailed plans," said Severus, rising. "The more is planned, the more could go wrong, and he does not like it when things go wrong."


	62. Narcissa's Insidious Plans

**Narcissa's Insidious Plans**

Narcissa Malfoy smirked ever so slightly, and poured her husband his morning tea. He refused it with a grimace, not even bothering to turn towards the table.

"Headache, my love?" she asked.

"Might as well have," he answered. "Our Lord's given me a project."

"Splendid," she said, with just enough brightness to annoy him. "What is it?"

"Secret," he said.

"And that gives you a headache?" she asked. "Not the strain of keeping it from me, I hope."

"No, the strain of not getting killed over it," he said tiredly. "Merlin's Toes I hate blood."

She raised a perfect eyebrow. "That's never stopped you before."

He took the tea after all. "That's because it's generally not mine."

"You don't seem to be missing any," she said.

He slammed the cup back into its saucer. "That's the point, dash it. He took – oh, never mind."

"Frankly, my dear," she said, shoving the tray of biscuits in his direction, even though he'd leaned back in his chair with his eyes shut, "you're going to have to get just a bit better at withstanding interrogation."

"Do stop smirking at me like that," he groused. "It's grating on my nerves."

"How do you know I'm smirking when you've got your eyes shut?" she asked.

"You were before and you haven't had any reason to stop," Lucius snapped. "I'm not in the mood for games."

"A second ago, you weren't in the mood for tea, and you've apparently changed your mind," she teased. "I shan't be home this afternoon, by the by."

"Going to fraternize with that annoying relation of yours?"

"All relations are annoying," she chided. "That's what they're _for. _But yes, I shall be visiting with Rabastan."

"If I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times, that man isn't worth speaking to," he said. "The Ministry suspects him, the Dark Lord is consistently disappointed in him, and he spends what little influence he has secretly caring for insane relations."

"If somebody had exercised a little care, they might not _be _insane," she said, smiling sweetly, but with eyes like ice.

"Oh, not this again," he complained, sitting up to take another sip of his tea. "I am not responsible for the Wizengamut's decision, and I certainly can't be expected to organize a massive strike against Azkaban single handed."

"Our Lord seemed to manage that without you," she said icily, "and you really ought to be glad he did."

"There are things one can be glad other people do, but still not want to do on one's own," he said.

"If I had my way, marriage would be one of them," she said sweetly.

"I heartily agree," he groused, slamming his cup back down. "Damn my mother."

"That's a bit redundant, dear," she said, "I don't need to be told to damn your mother."

"What has she got to do with anything?" he asked.

"You brought her up."

"You brought up marriage," he countered.

"Speaking of which," she said, "we really ought to do some planning for Draco. I've been thinking of the Avery girl."

"Parkinson has better prospects at the moment," he objected.

"But they're far too closely related, and I simply do not wish to deal with a hemophiliac grandchild," she said.

"It's treatable," he insisted, "and I will not have him marry into a family of fence-sitters."

She continued to argue with him, pleased that her diversion had been successful. "Just you wait, you snake," she thought fondly. "Secrets indeed."

XXX

"Harry, for goodness sakes! Eat your food and stop staring at it," said Hermione. "It doesn't hold the secrets of the universe."

"Neither does that book you're reading," said Ron. "And you'd manage to eat a lot more if you weren't doing both at once."

Hermione shot Ron a glare, before turning back to Harry. "Honestly," she said, "are you preoccupied with something, or did you just not get enough sleep?"

"A little bit of both," Harry answered, "had a bit of a strange dream, and … well, you know how it is."

Ron gave a quick look in either direction, checking for eavesdroppers. "It didn't involve the _snake_, did it?" he asked, using their own euphemism for Lord Voldemort.

"In a way," he said, "but… nothing current, you know."

"Just a nightmare, then," said Hermione sympathetically. "You should ask Pomfrey for more of that Dreamless Sleep before you fall behind in your studies."

Harry shrugged, feeling a twinge of guilt over that particular lie. "Either of you got plans for Christmas holls?" he asked, changing the subject.

Hermione shrugged. "I'm going home," she said. "My parents say I can't miss another Christmas with them."

"Either that or they're worried she's ruining her teeth," joked Ron. "Not sure myself, yet. Mum's right anxious we have everybody home; she worries herself sick about the lot of us."

Harry smiled wryly. "Don't let it put her off her knitting. I haven't been properly warm since November."

"I mean it's understandable," said Ron, more seriously. "With the Twins off in Diagon, Bill and Charley abroad, and … well."

Hermione nodded. "Has Dumbledore said anything about it, Harry?"

Harry stabbed at his ham and eggs. "No, he didn't."

"Well, you know you've always a standing invitation from Mum, right?" asked Ron. "I think now that the rest are making some – I mean, now that it's just me and Gin at Hogwarts, she thinks we'll be too lonely to have a proper holiday. I'm waiting for her orders not to sign the list any minute, really."

Harry sighed. Last night that girl with the funny name had told him the future wasn't fixed. He couldn't very well be in the Hospital Wing on Christmas Day if he wasn't even in the Castle, could he?

"What _is _the matter with you?" asked Hermione. "You haven't forgotten your essay, have you?"

"Just thinking," said Harry. "You remember that story she told us in Divination last time, Ron? The one about the king with the army?"

"Oh, that story," said Hermione sarcastically. "The one about the bloke, with the thing, and the other thing."

"You mean the one that consulted the oracle?" asked Ron. "Think he asked if he ought to go to war or not, and the lady said if he did he'd destroy a great kingdom –"

"Oh!" said Hermione excitedly. "That's right! Croesus! He was a Lydian King, and he consulted the Oracle at Delphi before going to war against Greece. Pythia told him if he did, he would destroy a great kingdom –"

"That's what I just said," interjected Ron.

" – so he went ahead and attacked," Hermione continued, "and was defeated, because the Kingdom meant in the prophesy was his own."

"And the moral of the story is that Divination is bunk," said Ron. "Why? She's not going to test it, is she?"

"No, she's not going to test it," Harry quickly assured him.

"Yeah, the fates probably informed her that we wouldn't remember it," said Ron.

"There's no harm in classic Mythology," said Hermione. "Really, it's good to have a grounding in it, just for History. Binns said last week that –"

Harry was no longer listening, lost in thought about prophesies, visions, and dreams, and the myriad of possible interpretations they had.

XXX

"Congratulations," said Rabastan. "How'd you manage it?"

Narcissa smirked. "My secret."

"I suppose how you get your husband into trouble is your business," he conceded. "This is all going much faster than I thought – the Dark Lord has named his date of attack."

"When?" she asked eagerly. "Before June?"

"Long before," he laughed. "Christmas day."

She stared. "He'll move that soon?"

Rabastan shrugged. "You know how much he loves a flourish. He wants them at their most vulnerable, and he knows any losses they sustain will be mourned that much more for dying on a holiday. It's all a bit too melodramatic if you ask me."

"He calls himself the Dark Lord," Narcissa pointed out. "Of course he's melodramatic."

"That is the long and the short of it, though," said Rabastan. "Snape received the finished Blood yesterday night, and was ordered to infuse something of Potter's with it. The plan is that we arrive at Hogwarts, take them by surprise, and activate the Spell so that our Lord can cast the Killing Curse. Instant victory."

"Until Dumbledore stumbles downstairs in his dressing gown and picks you off one by one while our Lord disappears and plans to kill the lot of you for causing the Spell to fail," she finished. "We need to work much faster than I thought. Find out what Dolohov wants – get him to trust you; I don't care how. Work together, band together."

Rabastan nodded. "We need to keep our hands clean, or we fall with Lucius."

She grinned coldly. "Precisely. I'm sure if we work together, we can come up with a suitable plan – I'd hate to have you fall at Hogwarts for lack of communication. You must have a strategy for retreat; leave Lucius for the Dark Lord. Escape first, explain later."

"It's always easier to explain things to him _after _he's had his fill cursing somebody," said Rabastan pragmatically. "That much is obvious."

"And you need to get into Severus' good graces," she went on. "He must come to trust us enough to reveal Igor's whereabouts. I hate to think of him alone in hiding somewhere, and I won't have it when I come into my estate."

"That's being worked on already," said Rabastan. "I've a friend of sorts in the Castle."

"A student?" she asked.

He nodded. "Not one of his favorites, but in good enough standing. I have every confidence he will do what I ask."

"And why is that?"

He smirked. "He knows if he crosses me I cross his mother. Touching, really, filial devotion is."

She laughed. "Children."

"I'm very glad, at times like these, that I haven't had any," he said.

"It's not that I don't like Draco," said Narcissa thoughtfull. "It's that I don't like the fact that he could be Lord of the Mannor. Over me. I shan't have it."

You're so very sure Lucius will die in the attack," asked Rabstain abruptly. "Why is that?"

Narcissa looked at her fingernails. "If the Dark Lord does not kill him outright, I am sure he will not recover from his injuries, even in my tender care."


	63. The Other Malfoy

**The Other Malfoy**

Draco Malfoy lay sprawled over the common room couch, one leg bent, the other propped on the armrest, left hand resting on his stomach, his right arm dangling over the side. To all appearances he was fast asleep.

Nott took a deep, shuddering breath before tiptoeing past the couch towards the secret door in the wall. With a quick glance over his shoulder, he gave the password, "Ashwinder."

Just as the wall shimmered into transparency, Draco's voice rang out from behind him, "Sennit!"

Nott froze, caught.

"Fancy a stroll after hours, do you, Sennit?" asked Malofy lazily, not having moved from his position or opened his eyes.

The wall shimmered again and solidified; Nott set his jaw and turned around to face the other boy. "Fancy stopping me, Draco?"

Draco swung both feet to the floor and sat up. "We can't afford to lose any more points, and if the Professor – "

"I shan't bother the Professor," Sennit assured quickly. "I was just …"

"Can't think of a proper excuse?" Draco taunted. "Shouldn't you have one prepared?"

"Mind your own bloody business!" snapped Nott. "I'll leave if I want to."

Draco sneered, and got to his feet, using his advantage of height to loom over the other boy. "Not when I know about it you won't."

"So, since you can't catch the Snitch, you've decided to be one, is that it?" Sennit demanded.

"I am a Prefect, Nott," said Draco. "The Professor likes to be informed of the illicit doings of his students."

"But not when they're those of his own House," countered Sennit, "and he wouldn't be happy to lose us our lead on the cup for a minor infraction."

"What is it," asked Draco, "that's so important you'll risk marring your perfect record?"

Nott scowled, throwing himself into a chair. "None of your Butterbeer!"

Draco pulled a crumpled bit of parchment from the pocket of his nightrobe and tossed it to the other boy. "I'm making it my business."

Sennit caught the paper reflexively and unrolled it. He blanched. "Where…?"

"You really ought not to drop your personal communication about in the common room," he said. "The House-Elves occasionally ask before they incinerate things."

Nott read over the letter again, frantically thinking of some lie to would explain things to Malfoy's satisfaction.

_N,_

_Keep watch over M. as I've told you – if he comes to harm I lose all leverage against his mother. _

_You must work fast with S. We have only until Christmas – either find something we can use against him, or something he wants that we can offer._

_Stay silent, stay secret, stay Slytherin. _

_R.L._

"It's from Remus Lupin," Nott blurted out. "My father wants me to gain his trust, and to do that I've got to pretend I'm spying on Professor Snape. It's all quite convoluted, really, and – "

"And I suppose M stands for Mulciber?" sneered Draco. "You don't really think I don't know a letter from Rabstan Lestrange when I see one? He always overplays the secrecy, giving away that he has something to hide with his ridiculous initials and codes."

"I don't know what you're talking about," blustered Sennit. "Its really – "

"I know very well," interrupted Draco, "that Rabastan hates my father for what happened to my aunt, and that my mother cares more for power and money than for the future of her line. If they're working together, either they want my father to die before my majority so that she receives the estate, or us both to die afterwards so that she not only receives the estate but also tabula rasa as regards to family."

"Now I really don't know what you're talking about," insisted Sennit. "All I know is that –"

"The only question," continued Draco over him, "is where you and Professor Snape figure into things."

Sennit gave a long sigh of defeat. "I wasn't told all of the details, just that Rabastan wanted you watched in order to negotiate with your mother, and the Professor watched in order to negotiate with him."

"How much did he pay you?" asked Draco, reseating himself. "Because I can pay you more."

"He's doesn't," snapped Nott. "Much as you might not like your mother, I'm rather attached to mine, and –"

"I'm sure she can take care of herself," said Malfoy dismissively. "She's rather a formidable dueler from what I hear."

"Apparently, you've never heard that even formidable duelers occasionally sleep," said Nott.

"Apparently, you need a little lesson in the art of the double-cross," said Malfoy. "It's very simple. My father would be, shall we say, quite miffed where mother to kill him, or me for that matter. If you provide him with proof of her machinations, I'm sure he'll be more than happy to look after your mother. And my father, unlike Lestrange, has always payed well."

"What about the Professor?" asked Nott.

"The Professor," said Snape, removing his invisibility glamour, "is less than pleased with the pair of you."

Both boys stared at the man in undisguised shock.

"What- where - how did you get in?" Malfoy stammered. "I was here for _hours _and the wall never twitched!"

"That is none of your concern," snapped Snape, stepping away from the wall. "I am very disappointed in both of you." He drew his wand and cast a Silencing Charm.

The boys exchanged a nervous look, suddenly on the same side again.

"Even a first year Slytherin would know enough not to have a conversation like yours in an open room!" raged Snape. "A second year would, I should hope, have the ability to cast a Silencing Spell to improve the situation, and a third year, by rights, should possess the modicum of intelligence needed to sneak past their peers undetected, or even the paltry common sense not to meddle with things beyond their abilities."

The Professor frowned at Nott. "I assume you are responsible for that revolting display of sentimentality, pitiful excuse for dinner, and defacing of currency I endured the other day?"

Sennit nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Look me in the eye, boy," snapped Snape. "Tell me – did you, or did you not, hear more from Lestrange than you have told thus far?"

Nott tried to evade his Professor's gaze, but it was impossible – he found himself staring back, as Snape's eyes seemed to dig into his skull. "He – he said to try and find out where Karkaroff was," he blurted. "And to give you any help you needed with Potter. There wasn't anything else. Really, there wasn't –"

"That will do." Snape crossed his arms and gave his students a dark glare. "Mr. Malfoy."

Draco stared back defiantly.

Snape's glare turned into a sneer. "You should know better than to believe what a blackmailer tells you, Nott. They don't simply tell you their plans, like the villains out of Warrior Warlocks.

"And you, Mr. Malfoy," he went on, returning his stare, "should have slightly more sense than to believe that they would go through so much trouble for something as petty as the Malfoy estate. Though, I do admit that they would kill you in a heartbeat – I would myself, simply for that disastrous essay you turned in Friday last, but I do believe that the Board would object."

"Then what is it about?" asked Malfoy, just as Nott blurted, "But there wasn't an essay due Friday!"

"It is about what everything is always about," answered Snape. "The Dark Lord. And it was due Wednesday, which accounts for my displeasure."

Nott blinked. "I'm supposed to believe that Lestrange asked me to give you soup because of Dark Lord?" he asked sarcastically. "Your health made it higher on his agenda than the extinction of Muggles?"

"Watch your tone, Mr. Nott," hissed Snape.

Malfoy's eyes glittered. "Lestrange is one of us, isn't he?" he asked eagerly. "Maybe he's –"

"One of _us_?" interrupted Snape scornfully. "You are not a member of anything that I am aware of, aside from, perhaps, the Quidditch team – which would be only to happy to be rid of you, if it weren't for your Galleons."

Malfoy's face twitched in anger. "He's a Death Eater, then," he spat, "if the phrasing pleases you better. You just wait until –"

"You seem to be under the mistaken impression that you are in a position to threaten me," hissed Snape. "Do you think you have any chance of making those threats good on your own? Your father is not one to put himself in a disadvantageous position, even for the whims of his own flesh and blood. All that aside, you have no business mentioning that organization – regardless of Silencing Charms."

Sennit could barely contain his amusement; Draco was being put into his place, and the shock of it had caused Malfoy to go red in the face.

"Is something funny, Mr. Nott?" asked Snape, rounding on him. "I hardly think I need remind either of you that you are dangerously close to eternal Detention."

Malfoy crossed his arms and glowered, in an improbable combination of rage and the sulks.

Nott took a deep breath. "I'm sorry sir," he said. "Lestrange's orders aside, I really have been concerned about your health, lately. Anything I could do would – "

Snape raised a pointed eyebrow. Nott stopped, embarrassed, and turned away.

"Whatever shall I do with you?" asked Snape, his voice soft and venomous.

"Take points now and you lose our lead," said Malfoy belligerently, "and if you give us Detention, you'll have to file an official report."

"He could say it was for an attempt to break curfew and for threatening a Professor," said Nott, with a shrug.

"Don't _encourage _him, you prat," snapped Malfoy.

"I think," said Snape, "that there is nothing left to do but insist you comply with my agenda."

"Comply with … you mean blackmail?" asked Nott incredulously. "But – you're a _professor! _That's, that's –"

"Abuse of a position of authority, yes, I know," finished Snape. "Of course, I could call in the Aurors now, letting them know you withheld evidence of a known Death Eater's location. I'll have that note, now, Mr. Nott."

Sennit handed the letter over reluctantly. Snape cast an amused eye over it, before tucking the scrap of parchment into his pocket.

"If you do not wish the wrath of your parents, Lestrange, and possibly even the Dark Lord himself," said Snape, "then you will both be so good as to do several little things I've need of. If you refuse, I shall regretfully have to inform all parties concerned about this little chat we've had. I am sure you can imagine the consequences of _that _for yourselves."

Before either could protest, he continued, "Of course, since adolescent numbsculls such as yourselves work infinitely better with a bit of enticement, I'll have you know that if you do well, you will be rewarded with my protection from all parties concerned. Are we clear?"

"As mud," said Draco, with a sullen nod.

"Protection," repeated Sennit carefully, "does that –"

"Considering your ineptitude at shielding yourself, I thought you would be glad of it," said Snape impatiently.

Nott took a deep breath. "It's not me I'm worried about, will –"

"Do what I ask of you, Nott, and I will safeguard your mother as well, seeing as you are no use to her," snapped Snape.

"All right," said Nott quickly. "I'll do it."


	64. Unwanted Visitors

**Unwanted Visitors**

Snape left the Slytherin Common room and, once he was sure he was out of sight, allowed a self-satisfied smirk to show. He had originally intended to have a bit of fun tossing marked papers at the First Years – naturally with his Glamours as Peeves in place – but the opportunity to eavesdrop had been too tempting to miss.

He was now sure that Nott would comply, especially since he did not intend to require more than a bit of letter writing on the boy's part. Malfoy, however, was more likely to attempt to circumvent him, and would require careful watching. At least, he thought, he no longer had to worry about strange baskets being set at his door.

XXX

It was an ordinary Tuesday morning for Remus Lupin. He'd had his tea, done a fair bit of rebinding for the Smethwyck Library, and had gone over some technical reading with Philomena. Not as usual, however, was the fact that Ralf was somewhere nearby – from the feel of his mind, quite angry.

Remus rubbed his forehead in frustration. Keeping up his Occlumency shields was taking a toll on his concentration. Not only were his shields keeping Moony's thoughts separated from his own, they were currently preventing Ralf's connection from reaching her. For the first time, Remus was conscious of the connection without feeling the instinctive compulsion to obey his Alpha. The tickling in his brain distracted him from examining the connection with this new angle however and he let out an exasperated sigh.

"Is something bothering you?" asked Philomena, looking up from her book with concern.

Remus sighed again and decided there was no reason for her not to know. "Ralf's up to something."

"Has he written?" she asked.

"No, but he's angry and he wants me to know about it," said Remus.

"I was wondering when he'd show up," she said. "Don't look at me like that. First we didn't send the blood and then we sent Mort back to him – and he'll have just told Ralf a very confusing story about an older me and a defiant you. Of course he's not happy. I'm surprised he didn't just march in here and thrash us."

"He's never thrashed anybody," said Remus. "Not as a man, anyway." 

Philomena laughed. "Oh, yes he has. You should see him at it sometimes. Knocked the wand right out of an Auror's hand once." 

"An Auror's?" asked Remus disbelievingly. "Why would he be fighting with an Auror? He's a squib."

"I don't know, actually," she said. "They show up every now and then. Mostly, he just shows them his papers and they go. This one got fresh." 

Remus raised an eyebrow. "You're having me on." 

"Honest truth," she insisted. "Hand to Merlin."

"And why were you even there to witness that sort of thing?" Remus asked. "I still think you're making the whole thing up."

"Am not," she retorted. "It's not like I meant to be there either. I was hiding behind the bookshelf, minding my own business, when –"

She broke off, startled, as the Wards rang out. The words, '_Grizz – armed and always,' _formed themselves in the air. Remus waved them away irritably. "Upstairs with you," he said. "I'll take care of him."

Philomena looked as though she were about to protest, but thought better of it, and disappeared up the stairs to her room.

Remus rose and drew his wand heading out the door and slamming it. He drew his robes tighter about himself as the November wind was quite chilly, and watched Ralf make his way slowly up the walk.

The Occlumency shields became harder and harder to hold steady since Moony tried franticly to reach Grizz, but Remus gritted his teeth and reinforced them. After what seemed an age the other man reached the porch.

Ralf stopped and removed his dagger dropping it to the floor before advancing towards Remus.

"You can stop it," said Remus. "Moony isn't here."

Confused, Ralf stared at Remus. For the first time, Remus could hold the other man's gaze. "She's not here," he repeated. "You will have to talk with me."

Ralf continued to stare at him, transfixed. "Where… what…?" Unconsciously, he reached out a hand for Remus' face.

Remus jerked his head aside. "I'm in no mood for your games. Say whatever it is you came to say."

"She really is gone," Ralf whispered, awed. "You… you… Moony's here, I can feel it but… she's gone. What have you _done _with her?"

"I locked her in," answered Remus tersely.

"How?"

"Occlumency, a form of mental Magic," Remus answered.

"Then I wouldn't be able to do it," said Ralf regretfully. "Congratulations, though."

Remus blinked. "Congratulations?"

"You've found a way to regain yourself," said Ralf simply, all previous anger strangely absent. "It's very odd to talk to you this way – now that I can't hear her, Grizz is quiet."

"You're not going to blame everything you've done on him are you?" demanded Remus.

"Not everything, no," answered Ralf. "But a lot of it. You know how it is, you're the same. She'll want to do something, want it desperately, and you find it awful and disgusting, but nevertheless you let it happen. Sometimes even when you're a man."

Remus frowned, considering Ralf as he now was. It seemed to him that Ralf was half his usual size, though he knew that was impossible. The strange mixture of awe and hatred that had usually taken over Remus was gone, although Moony's feelings were still somewhat perceptible behind the barrier, and without them Remus wasn't quite sure how to behave.

Ralf was an ordinary man, Remus thought suddenly, just a man, now that the werewolf behind his eyes had receded. He wasn't even a Wizard and could hardly be considered a threat. Why, then, had he let himself be controlled and manipulated by this person for so long?

"I'm afraid the tables have turned," said Remus coldly. "Without the Wolf, I have the upper hand. If you've come for Philomena, you'd best turn around and go."

"I'm afraid it isn't a question of who has her," answered Ralf. "It's a question of the controls in place for her. Without them, it's only a matter of time before the Ministry steps in. Perhaps I should have explained all of this before, but it seemed so much simpler when –"

"When you controlled us," answered Remus. "I suppose it did."

"Remus… this _is _a rather long story and it isn't exactly warm out here," said Ralf. "Give me time to explain and then I'll go, and you'll never have to see me again."

Remus tilted his head to one side, considering. It would be better to know what Ralf had to say, especially if it concerned the Ministry. "Right then," he said, opening the door. "Come in and we can talk over tea."

XXX

Severus' morning was not much better than Remus'. He awoke to the sound of pounding on his bedroom door. Instantly awake, he scrambled out of bed and into his dressing gown, pocketing his wand. He hurried to the door and opened it.

Narcissa Malfoy smiled at him. "Good morning, Severus. Did I wake you?"

Snape glowered at her. "Indeed you did. It's five in the morning."

She looked at him sweetly. "Yes, it is, but you'd be in classes later on, wouldn't you?"

Snape sighed and irritably ushered her into his sitting room, before summoning a House Elf to bring tea. "I hope your not waiting for an invitation to sit."

Narcissa gave another blinding smile and perched herself on his desk, crossing her legs primly. "Draco wrote me a rather interesting letter today," she said.

"Hogwarts does not monitor student post," sneered Snape, seating himself and inwardly cursing the cold floor and himself for forgetting his slippers. "

"Of course not," she laughed, "but it didn't concern Hogwarts."

"Then I fail to see how it is any of my business," returned Snape. "Especially at five in the morning."

A House Elf appeared with a resounding crack and went to set the tea service on the table, but stopped, confused, when it saw Narcissa sitting there. A glare from Snape sent it scurrying to place the tray precariously on a side table and disappear.

"Draco wrote that you had threatened him," said Narcissa. "He was rather vague, so I'm afraid I'll have to ask you for more information."

Snape handed her a cup of tea, which she took and set precariously on her knee.

"He was out of line last night," said Snape simply. "I merely warned him that I would not overlook it a second time."

"In what way was he out of line?" she asked. "Surely not enough to warrant a death threat?"

"He was getting in over his head," Snape answered, having had a few fortifying sips of tea. "Spying on his House mates, trying to find information about the Death Eaters, implying that several people were after his head or his estate… He's got an unfortunately overactive imagination."

"From what he wrote," said Narcissa, "you asked him to get in deeper."

Snape waved a hand in a careless gesture. "I shan't do more than give him a bit of a distraction. If he thinks he's doing something real, it'll prevent him from spinning more fantasies."

"Fantasies?" she repeated. "Such as believing Igor Karkaroff do be alive, for example."

He raised a bemused eyebrow at her. "You always did play your trump too early, Narcissa."

"I've played my card," she said. "Follow suit."

"You can't play Karkaroff," said Snape. "Karkaroff's mine."

"Would you accept your life as a trade?" she asked sweetly. "If I let you know how to circumvent my husband, would you let me see my friend?"

Snape laughed cruelly. "Your husband is in my hand as well. I've already circumvented him."

"You've made a great show of it," she replied. "But Rabastan's found you out, I'm afraid. You'll have to plan a bit more than that to throw _him _off the scent."

Snape shook his head. "Rabastan had best not meddle in things he no longer has anything to do with."

She looked down her nose at him. "You're a bit ahead of yourself. Don't you see what I'm offering you?"

"Aside from a needless view of your ankles?" asked Snape. "No, I'm afraid I don't."

"A partnership," said Narcissa. "You'd get farther if you worked with me and Rabastan, than you will alone. Lestrange can be your man on the inside, and I can work on Lucius."

"Rabastan is no longer on the inside," snapped Snape. "Really, Narcissa, is you were going to come in here at this godforsaken hour, you could at least have done for a good reason."

Narcissa took a careful sip of tea, recrossing her legs. "Lucius is trying to overthrow the Dark Lord," she said. "Lucius must fail."

"Don't be so melodramatic, Lady Malfoy," Severus said with an exasperated sigh. "We both know very well that you never cared enough about the Dark Lord to be marked, and that you hardly care enough about your husband and slightly too much about his estate."

"Perhaps," she said. "Does it really make a difference what my motives are as long as my goal coincides with yours?"

"I'm content working independently," he said. "I don't need an ally."

"You'd rather have an enemy, then?" she teased. "You know what they say about enemies. Keep them close."

"I think I've told you before that I've no intention of keeping you close," sneered Snape.

"You're making a mistake," she said. "You could go very far working with me."

"I'll go farther alone," he insisted, "without a conniving murderess in my way."

"I've never killed anybody," she said innocently.

"Of course not," he returned. "You've only arranged to have it done."

She smiled. "It's hardly the same thing, is it? My hands are clean."

He shook his head. "Frankly, Narcissa, all the cards _are _in my hand."

"I have the Dark Lord's trust," she shot back. "And if I tell him that you've entered the project without his permission, against his express command, then –"

"Your information is out of date," said Snape dismissively. "That Project is finished. The Dark Lord is only waiting until the planets align themselves."

"Yes," she said, looking at her nails, "but you don't want your head on that platter when he finds out about your triumvirate."

Severus looked at her sharply. "So it was you. Scrying doesn't suit you."

"No matter, that's my final card." Narcissa gave a malicious grin. "If I tell the Dark Lord you plan to overthrow him…"

"Then I tell him I went along with the plan to crumble it from the inside as I have, in fact, done," he finished. "The Blood Magic will work, not as Lucius wants it to, but as the Dark Lord commanded."

"But the papers – they made it quite clear it wouldn't work," she said. "All the notes!"

"Simply gobbledygook to fool Lucius," Snape lied smoothly. "What the notes said I did to the blood and what I actually did are two very different things. You're late, Narcissa, but you'll get what you want in the end regardless. When the project goes according to plan then I will reveal Lucius' plot, at which point I am sure the Dark Lord will dispose of him."

"What will you say when he asks why you've concealed all this from him?" she demanded. "You still need –"

"I'll beg his pardon," interrupted Snape. "I'll insist that Lucius would have killed me if he had known I was working against him and I thought it were better I lived and prevented Lucius' plots, than died along with all knowledge of his treason. The Dark Lord will be angry at that, but I'm sure the success of the project, and the fact that he's got a traitor to punish, will mollify him sufficiently."

"Severus," she snapped in frustration, "what about Rabstan? What about Dolohov? What about –"

"They are quite out of harm's way," he said. "They've been punished for their ineptitude and given other orders already. Everything is in order. Now, unless you've a better reason to waste my time, you'd best be on your way."

Putting the teacup aside, she slipped from the desk. "Well," she said coldly. "It seems I have come here for nothing. So sorry to have wasted your time."

He rose and led her to the door. "But my dear Narcissa," he said. "Think of what you've gained. You now know you've merely to sit back and wait for all your plans to fall neatly into your lap."

"Except one," she said, giving him a wink.

Snape glared at her in return. "I'm afraid I've no intention of falling in your lap. You'd best go after another line. I'm sure there are enough eligible bachelors, and if the one you want isn't single, I'm sure you've no qualms about making him so."

"The one I want is single," teased Narsissa.

Severus shook his head. "The one you want knows you far to well to fall for that sort of thing."

She sighed regretfully. "I suppose not," she said. "Well, good day, Severus. Thank you for the tea, and do see that Draco doesn't get into too much trouble. I simply must run."

"Yes, I'm sure you're quite anxious to make Rabastan suffer for making a mistake," agreed Severus. "Good day."

She gave him a nod, and another blinding smile, before she left.

Snape finally allowed a grin to spread over his face. "I win," he said to himself, suddenly energized. "Game and match."

XXX


	65. The Squib's Story

**The Squib's Story**

Ralf took his tea and added as much milk as would fit. "You have no idea how important it is not to allow Philomena to mature," he said. "My agent said she had, but I'm sure it's only a Glamour, as – "

"It's not a Glamour," said Remus tersely. "I circumvented the Spells and the Potion."

Ralf swallowed. "How?"

Remus sat stiffly in his chair, his tea untouched. "It doesn't matter how," he said. "It's done, and you won't undo it. As an added benefit her blood is useless to you now, as I'm sure your agent told you."

"I suppose you've registered her, too?" snapped Ralf, slamming his cup to the table. "Years of work, wasted! "

"Register her?" asked Remus derisively. "As my daughter? No, I haven't – I've no desire to get myself killed."

"Don't be deliberately obtuse, Lupin," snarled Ralf. "I mean as a Seer. You've gone and let them register her, haven't you?"

"Nobody's registered her anywhere. I honestly haven't any idea what you're talking about."

"The Ministry!" shouted Ralf. "The bloody Ministry of Magic and how they think that they have to manage everything, even the Seers, even if it means half destroying their minds to make them monitorable, even if – "

"Uncle Ralf," said Philomena, stepping fully into the room. "You can stop yelling. If the Ministry tried to meddle with my brain I think I would have noticed by now."

"I told you to stay upstairs," Remus admonished.

"And you told me you wouldn't let him in," she shot back. "Well, Ralf, old thing, take a good look. I told you years ago that a competent Wizard would be able to fix everything, and the Ministry wouldn't blink, and you told me I was stupid."

"She never was very good about being sent upstairs when there was trouble coming," said Ralf sardonically, surveying her with his head to one side. "How did you do it?"

"Combination of a Potion and some Spells," she answered. "I told you the Monitoring Spell would only activate if the maturation of the gift and the body happened simultaneously."

"And I told you that was only a guess based on very flimsy evidence," returned Ralf. "As it is, what's done is done, and I'm glad you're not a halfwit."

"Excuse me," Remus interrupted, "but I should like, for once, to know what's going on."

Philomena gave an exasperated sigh. "The Ministry of Magic has a monitor to keep a record of every Prophesy made by a true Seer. To do that they need to link the brain of the Seer to an automatic Pensieve of sorts, and the process generally makes the subject quite …loopy."

"'Loopy' is putting it mildly," said Ralf. "I'm not generally good in Magical theory, but the process requires a partial displacement of the thought process. Once the Ministry detects psychic activity over a certain level, they dispatch the Department of Records to perform the necessary Spells."

"But they can't distinguish between regular fluctuations in the atmosphere and an actual Seer unless it's the first prophesy by a mature Seer – the signature of first Sight is quite distinctive. If they miss the first one, they miss all of them because the signature has been recorded as nonhuman paranormal phenomena."

"Which is all a very good theory," interrupted Ralf, "but we weren't _sure _of it. I couldn't risk her sanity, and The Ministry would only let me get away with one. It was the lesser of two evils to keep her as she was."

"Apparently not," she said bitterly. "I told you, I was right. Years of that – that- _wrongness, _all for nothing."

"What do you mean the Ministry would only let you get away with one?" demanded Remus. "One _what_?"

"One indiscretion," explained Ralf. "They're willing to overlook that I'm a nonregistered, lycanthropic Squib with a daughter, as long as I hold the Changlian Gates for them. Even that wouldn't let me get away with withholding Magical Records."

"_You_ hold the Changlian Gates?" demanded Remus, at the same time as Philomena shouted, "So _that's _why the Aurors always came 'round!"

Remus ran his hand through his hair. "You hold the Changlian Gates," repeated Remus slowly. "Out of all the upstanding Squibs and Muggles who know about our world, the Ministry chose _you _to hold our world safe?"

Ralf gave a self-depreciating laugh. "You have no idea how long I worked at it. It was my goal since I turned eleven and found I had truly no chance of doing anything my family considered of value."

"Your family disowned you," Philomena pointed out, "when you –"

"It was my life's work," Ralf went on, ignoring her. "I worked long and I worked hard, let the Ministry put me through a barrage no human being ought to put up with. In the end, I earned the privilege of Keeping the Keys for England."

"How big is England, really?" asked Remus eagerly. "None of the textbooks ever said."

"It's far more complicated than simple size," said Ralf. "To begin with not all parts are hidden to the same level. The Incantations range from simple anti-Muggle Notice-Me-Not Spells to full blown Fidelius Charms against all sentient beings. Some of the Fidelii holders have died, resulting in territory that will never be seen or used by a living soul again bar a complete Magical Upheaval."

"But since you hold the Key to the whole thing you must know how an area," insisted Remus. "You can't hold something without knowing – "

"Oh yes I can," interrupted Ralf. "I hold the Keys which access the Spells themselves. To actually have any effect on those Spells whatsoever, one would need far more power and time than bears thinking about."

"I thought the Keeper held the Wards in place," said Philomena in puzzlement. "But I don't understand how a Squib could –"

"The Keeper has always been a Squib," explained Remus. "Since Squibs know of our world they can hold the secrets of our world, but, not being able to work Magic they are thought unable to damage or exploit them."

"Details aside, I've far more to think about than what the actual physical area of England is," said Ralf. "I wouldn't be able to tell you even if I did know it offhand, I would die the moment I did. Vows, you know. In fact, I'm skirting dangerously close by even letting you know what I am." He swallowed uncomfortably. "So you understand why I … did what I did."

"You tossed me in with somebody you hadn't seen in nearly twenty years because you were afraid that the Dark One _might _be suicidal enough to circumvent the greatest Wards in the history of Magic, have the hundred odd connections he'd need to find out who you are, _and _actually manage to get his hands on you and force you to give up the key?" demanded Philomena. "You goddamn –" She broke off, breathing heavily, before abruptly turning away. "I'm going to take a walk."

Remus cringed as the door slammed, rattling the windows.

"She'll be back in an hour or so," said Ralf with a sigh. "She likes to walk when she's upset."

"Is your position also the reason you disappeared during the first war?" asked Remus.

"Partly that," agreed Ralf. "And I'm sure that now you can understand how …well, I'd realized I'd made a mistake and I didn't want you to pay for it."

"Didn't want me to pay for it?" repeated Remus incredulously. "I paid for it every day of my life since! For Melin's sake I thought I'd _eaten a newborn_."

"Well, I might not have chosen the best way to go about it," said Ralf lightly. "Sorry."

Remus gritted his teeth and rose from his chair. "I am very close to Cursing you."

"Look at it from my side of things, Lupin," snapped Ralf. "You were a such an idealistic idiot when it happened. I could never have convinced you to give her up, just as I could never have convinced you to _have _her if you'd had a choice. You could have gotten us all killed. There was _no _way I could have hidden her if you had known she was alive. As it is, I only escaped the capital penalty by force of my position. They wouldn't have spared _you_."

"So you decided it would be better to allow me to think that I …" Remus broke off, gritting his teeth and turning away, hands clenched.

Ralf shrugged, unimpressed. "You got back on your feet, didn't you? You weren't put down by Creature Control. You didn't destroy your chances at a livelihood by attempting to support a child, or waste years insisting on trying to get along with me in order to see her. You didn't end up hating yourself for the beast within you."

"You didn't have the right to decide what I'd rather believe of myself or what I'd rather do," shouted Remus whirling back around. "You – "

"Don't children always say that their parents haven't the right?" dismissed Ralf. "As far as your Wolf is concerned, I …"

"Damn you!" shouted Remus. "If it weren't for your utter lack of control, you'd never _have _that sort of control over anybody! And I _did _hate Moony– I had before I met you and I hated her even more afterwards!"

Ralf sighed. "What's done is done, Lupin. There's absolutely no good to be had by anybody for you to go shouting about it now. I just wanted to … well, I just wanted to make sure her brain wasn't damaged."

"You wanted to see whether she was still a viable source of Seer Blood, you mean," accused Remus. "You never did care for anybody but yourself."

"And you never understood how to make the most of what you had," said Ralf, smiling slightly. "It's really quite simple when you come down to it – I couldn't allow the Ministry to get at her brain, which meant I couldn't allow her to be healthy enough to have visions. The byproduct of quite normal decisions was a lot of highly valuable blood which it would have been a crime to waste."

"Get out of my house," demanded Remus. "Now."

Ralf laughed and rose almost lazily. "You always were a dramatic feisty thing," he said. "I knew you'd be the right sort to look after her the last few years she's any need of it. Which reminds me of the other reason I came over here. I left rather abruptly and a lot I meant to do got lost in the shuffle. Here's the key to her account at Gringotts, and the information regarding her Muggle holdings."

Tossing an envelope onto the table with a clunk, he retrieved his coat and shrugged into it as he crossed to the door. "Tread safely," he said sarcastically, "my Heart."

Remus stared at the closed door for a long moment before he could calm himself down.


	66. Harry

**Harry**

Harry heaved a sigh and put his head in his hands, resting his elbows on his knees as he sat on the damp floor.

He hadn't told his friends about his whirlwind trip to Grimauld Place. Then again, he also hadn't told them his lessons with Snape involved more than Occlumency, and he certainly hadn't told them that he was using the Chamber of Secrets, preferring they thought he was in the Room of Requirement.

A scattering of dead spiders lay before him on the floor. There was no shortage of them here, now that the Basilisk was gone, and they provided easy targets. They were the second advantage of using the Chamber, the first being that whatever Salazar Slytherin had done to it overrode the general Hogwarts Wards. Nowhere else could Harry have practiced the killing curse undetected, save perhaps a room Snape had specially prepared in advance.

Taking a deep shuddering breath he raised his head again and surveyed his handiwork. He was getting better at the Curse. "It's just the same as stomping on them," he whispered to himself. "There's no reason to feel worse about it this way."

He twirled his wand in his fingers, scanning the floor for movement. He didn't have long to wait before a large black spider scuttled towards the opposite wall. The lighting slash of the wand came easily to Harry's wrist now, and the Incantation was said without a stammer. "Avada Kedavra."

Green light flashed and the spider slumped, dead in an instant.

Harry adjusted his glasses with his free hand, reaching out a foot to sweep the dead animal into the pile with the rest. "Bloody stupid," he said. "I'm ready _now._ But they won't even let me talk to a _snake _let alone Voldemort."

But, he reasoned to himself, Dumbledore and the rest didn't _know _he was ready and would probably be exceedingly angry if they _did _know. Even Snape did not know he had started using Avada Kedavra to actually kill, or that he practiced the curse at all outside of his lessons.

"I'll show them a hero," he said savagely to himself. "Sooner or later we'll be attacked and suddenly they'll all realize that they never taught me to fight and they'll panic, but I'll just kill him. He'll just drop like a spider, and everybody will stand there, not knowing what to do, completely stunned. And then I'll turn 'round, run back into the castle and … slide down the banister of the grand staircase."

Another spider skittered by his shoe and he reflexively jerked backwards before quietly repeating the curse and pushing the resulting body into the pile.

"Oh they'll try and make me act dignified," he went on to himself, "but I won't play their game. If they think I'll do what they want, and say the things they want me to, and act the perfect little hero, well, I won't. I'll make faces every time they ask me how it felt and whether my mum had anything to do with it and whether I've had seizures or gibbered lately. I'll wear my robes inside out when Fudge hands me the Order of Merlin, and I'll dance a jig on the … "

He trailed off, staring morosely at the pile of spiders. "If, that is, I manage to kill him in the first place."

He took a deep breath. "Well, that's all there is for it," he said. "I'll tell Snape I'm ready. Maybe he'll find a way for me to sneak in or come in from behind or… something. It's probably almost curfew anyway."

0X0X0

Remus checked his clock anxiously. Eight o'clock, and Philomena had not yet returned. He sighed deeply, turning back to his work reminding himself that there wasn't anything he could do about the situation.

His notes seemed to play tricks on him, and he found himself reading the same words over and over again without comprehending them:

The Wards created for Hogwarts have not been altered for the last century, though Key holders have changed several times. Not much is known about the nature of the Wards, their Focus or Source for added security. Altering them is at best a dangerous proposition and even impossible without the cooperation of the Key holder.

Remus forced himself to concentrate, scribbling "bring up next OM, suggest review, strengthening and possible additions/moderations," in the margin, before going on to the next passage:

Warding Project suggested must be implemented, as it seems not too many have done so on their own.

Suggest that because of threat of upcoming attack a plan of emergency healing be set up including a shrinkable kit of the most necessary potions, et c. If production of such is possible, carrying and any necessary training in use should be mandatory for all members.

Suddenly, his Floo flared to life and someone tumbled head over heals onto his hearth. Instantly on the alert, he jumped to his feet, wand in hand. "Philomena?" he asked, moving towards the other room, only to stop in shock when he saw who it was scrambling to his feet on the hearth.

"Harry?" he asked, repocketing his wand and darting forward. "Is everything all right?"

Harry adjusted his glasses, blinked a bit owlishly and nodded. "I just… I needed to talk to you, it can't be put in an owl, and I know it's after curfew and I'm breaking probably fifty or so school rules but … "

"I trust you took proper safety precautions as regards to the Floo?" checked Remus.

Harry nodded warily.

"Then I suppose they'll let you off with only a few points or Detention when they find out," said Remus. "I won't tell them of course, but the Headmaster has ways of knowing these things. Sit down, have a biscuit."

"I'm really sorry for just barging in and all, but…" Harry trailed off when Remus game him a rather pointed gaze, and sat himself and dutifully took a biscuit, which he found he was actually grateful for.

"Calm down, you're not in trouble," said Remus. "Not until we get you back to Hogwarts, at any rate."

Harry sighed. It had been easy when he'd imagined it – simply to visit Remus and tell him everything. Now that he was sitting across from the man, however, his brain had starting coming up with various fantastic lies and excuses he could use so he wouldn't have to say what he had come to.

"Take your time," said Remus gently.

"I think I'm … ready," said Harry quietly, after a long pause.

"Ready for what?"

"Ready," repeated Harry. "Voldemort. Everything seems … set."

Remus tried hard to keep his expression neutral. "Set how?"

"Well… there was the plot with the Blood Magic Snape discovered, and the Protection Spell, and that snake in the desk," said Harry. "Seems he's going to come for me again. This time though … I'm ready. I've been studying with Snape, and I think I …"

"Your Occlumency lessons?" asked Remus, hoping the boy would explain what he was after without to much prompting.

Harry looked pensive for a moment, then shook his head 'yes.' An obvious lie, Remus thought.

"You're not thinking of going after him yourself, are you?" asked Remus softly. "Because no matter what anybody tells you, it isn't –"

"Oh you all say the same thing," said Harry, suddenly looking annoyed. "It's all very well and good to say its all my decision and I don't have to save the world and nobody expects me to and all, but as far as I can tell nobody else is going to and the sooner I do it the less people will die."

"Fewer," corrected Remus automatically, before catching himself. "Harry… I know that you've been under a lot of pressure because of the Prophesy and the things Dumbledore has told you, but I need you to understand that what Voldemort does is not your fault. It may sound, sometimes, like you are required to come between him and anybody he might be after, but it is not. You've done some very heroic things but you need to understand that that isn't required of you."

"Oh, sure," said Harry belligerently. "You're telling me leaving Cedric back there would've been all right! Would it have? I should've just packed up and gone home because it wasn't 'required'?"

Remus shook his head, an odd mixture of horror and pity threatening to show on his face. "I'm not going to say that what you've done in the past wasn't the right thing to do. On the contrary, I'm saying that what you've done is more than anybody had any reason to believe you would. A lot of people say that they'd face death for their friends or their family but when it comes to that … most people fold, Harry. And you're talking about putting your life on the line, not in a moment when there's no other choice, not in the face of a particular known threat, but because there might be a possibility that people you don't even know… "

"You honestly expect me to be that callous?" demanded Harry.

"No," sighed Remus. "I'm telling you that most people would be. I'm very proud that you're … that you're mature enough to see the whole picture."

"You're talking in circles," said Harry. "You're not making any sense!"

"Harry…" Remus closed his eyes and took a deep breath before going on. "What I've been trying to say is that … while I admire you for wanting to save the world I am very much against you dying."

Harry eyes flashed. "I'm not going to die," he insisted. "The Blood Magic and what my parents left me, and the fact that Voldemort's lost the element of surprise… I'm going to win."

"You said you came here to talk," said Remus gently. "And I get the distinct impression that you haven't said anything you came here to say."

The determined look in Harry's eyes abruptly faded and he slumped in his chair. "I don't want to kill him," he blurted out. "I know that I have to and I can't help but think he deserves it, but … I don't want to kill him."

"The Headmaster told me something once," said Remus gently. "That there were times we had to do things, terrible things, but they were necessary. And it was only when we came to enjoy them that we became… like our enemies."

Harry shook his head. "Told me that too," he said. "And I understand it, I've thought about it a lot – the fact that I don't want him to win outweighs the fact that I don't want to kill him. The trouble is … you need to want for the Killing Curse to work to its full potential. I know simple Intent would probably do it, but he's so strong – what if I have to want it, and I don't have enough hate to… make it work? It'd all be wasted, all of it. I'd never be able to kill him, then, and he'd … he'd win."

"Hate is what makes him strong," contradicted Remus. "There've been a great number of people who've hated him, who've tried to kill him, and he only grew stronger."

"My love burnt his hands once," said Harry with a wry smile. "You're right. It might do in a pinch."

Remus returned the smile. "The fact that you have even the smallest amount of pity for him, that you don't want to kill him, might hurt him more than any hate could."

Harry nodded. "I suppose."

"But I want you to swear to me that you won't go after him," said Remus, sounding more stern than Harry had ever heard him. "Bravery is one thing, but stupidity is another. Work hard, study, prepare yourself so that if he attacks you, you are able to hold your own. Whatever you do, don't … don't go on some foolhardy expedition to take him out on your own."

"Yes, Professor," agreed Harry, after a slightly too long pause. "I promise."

XXX


	67. A Bit of a Tantrum and Some Advice

**A Bit of a Tantrum and Some Advice**

While Harry and Remus were talking inside of the cottage, Philomena was sulking outside of it. She had raised a heat bubble as Professor Snape had during the last full moon, though hers was not quite as strong.

She was sitting on the ground, leaning against the back wall of the cottage, arms crossed and face set in a scowl. How _did _Ralf always manage to do such terrible things to her, and then explain it all away as a logical decision? And how did he manage to make her feel so guilty for hating him?

Philomena banged her had against the wall and shut her eyes. It wasn't fair, she thought, that such an absolutely horrible person could be the same man she'd loved in her childhood. "It isn't fair," she said aloud, banging her head again. "It just isn't _fair._"

"What isn't fair?" demanded a voice.

She started momentarily, then relaxed back into her sullen scowl when she saw who it was. "Nothing's fair." 

"Having a bit of a tantrum?" finished Professor Snape.

"Shut up."

"I'm looking for a student who's probably behaving just like you," said Snape. "Sullen, peevish thing. Seen him?"

"Why would I know where your student is?" she snapped. "Father's inside. Ask him."

"He Flooed here," answered Snape. "And I sensed magic in the back here and came to look."

"You've had your look," she said sourly.

He turned to go, then seemed to change his mind abruptly. "Miss. Lupin," he said, ducking into her heat bubble and crouching in an awkward squat to sit with her. "You really ought not to sit out here alone."

Philomena's scowl deepened and she turned away from him.

"There are better ways of clearing your head," he said quietly. "Talking, for instance."

"Aren't you supposed to be the angry untouchable one?" she snapped, turning back in spite of herself.

"Yes, I'm the angry one," he agreed quietly. "I'm making an exception."

She gave a scoffing sound. "For what?"

"Because it's late," he answered.

"It's not even ten yet," she said.

"Not that sort of late," he said. "Regardless, you seem… quite upset."

"Yes, I'm upset," she snapped. "And I want you to go away so I can get myself _un_upset."

"It doesn't seem to be working," he said. "The bubble's been up for quite some time."

"Do you ever have the feeling you ought to hate somebody?" she asked abruptly. "That you really ought to hate them, or be so disgusted with them that you'll never ever look them in the face again? And just … like them anyway?"

He nodded slowly. "Quite a number of people, in fact," he answered.

Philomena sighed. "Ralf was here, and … and… I don't hate him."

Snape said nothing, but simply waited.

"I got mad at him," she went on. "And I started to yell at him and suddenly… well I _couldn't _anymore. Because all at once I saw that it didn't matter what I said or did, or how much I argued, he just… he'd still be the way he is. He'll never change. He'll always use people as much as he can, and he'll never see anything wrong with it, and he'll always twist things around so that it looks like he's doing things altruistically instead of… "

He watched her for a moment, then said slowly, "Has this man any redeeming qualities?"

She smiled wryly. "Well, he's an awfully affectionate thing, he's funny, and he's … fiercely loyal once he's decided you're worth it. He's got an incredibly shrewd mind, but he uses it for all the wrong goals since he's a _self-centered, cruel, manipulative untrustworthy –!" _She ended in shrill scream, and then slumped back against the wall to catch her breath.

"And that's the long and the short of it," said Professor Snape. "We can't hate them completely nor can we like them completely. There's a balance, somewhere."

"Indifference?" she asked.

He gave an odd sort of laugh. "Not indifference, no. Just … acceptance of the fact that people aren't easily categorized and that they may be liked for one thing while being hated for another."

She sniffed. "Thanks."

Snape got to his feet and was startled when she grabbed his arm to haul herself up. Shooting her a glare, he jerked his elbow away. "Now that you're done sulking like an idiot," he said crisply. "I have work to do." With that, he stalked towards the front of the cottage.

Philomena stared after him for a moment, nonplussed, before breaking into an amused grin and following him.

Remus was at the door when they arrived, peering into the growing darkness anxiously. When Snape came into view he relaxed slightly and motioned him forward. "Wards said you'd arrived a while ago," he said. "What kept… oh."

Severus' eyebrow twitched slightly as Remus noticed Philomena. "I've come to exchange hostages." At Remus' slightly blank look, he added an exasperated, "the Potter boy, you fool!"

"Yes, yes," repeated Remus hurriedly. "He's inside, come in."

Once inside, Snape set his face in his most intimidating glower and stalked towards Harry. "Mr. Potter, you have broken curfew, into the staff-room, and half a dozen school rules."

Harry rose nervously. "I can explain…"

"Were it not that you are sadly needed to save this sorry world, you would be dangerously close to expulsion," snapped Snape. "As it is, the Headmaster would merely wish to have a pleasant chat with you, and perhaps take a few house points."

"Yes, because he's already taken everything else," Harry snapped back, turning red in the face. "I just wanted to _talk _to somebody who'd _listen _to me! It's very likely I won't live beyond the next few months and I just wanted to make sure it made sense to believe that dying was worth it! And another thing –"

"You are going to die at age two-hundred and thirty-five, of heart-failure," said Philomena flatly.

"Two hundred and thirty-five?" repeated the men together in astonishment, just as Harry demanded, "Heart failure?"

Philomena nodded serenely. "It's the most likely outcome I see in your possible futures. Other options include … " she trailed off for a moment, circling Harry and occasionally catching at the air. "… broom collision… snake bite … an accident with a lorry…"

Harry gaped at her, jaw moving soundlessly. "But," he finally managed to stammer, "what about Voldemort?"

Philomena shrugged. "There's a very vague image connected with the Dark One – you in a gilded coffin – but you appear to be alive even in that. Good night." She drifted out of the room wearing an odd, thoughtful smile.

Harry stared after her incredulously. "Are all Seers mental?" he demanded, looking from one of his teachers to the other.

"They're not insane," said Remus slowly. "They simply see things… a bit differently than we do."

"Be that as it may, it's not Potter's future at issue at the moment, but his immediate past and present," said Severus. "He has stepped quite far across the line, and if I do not return with him quite soon the Headmaster will probably do something drastic."

Remus looked worried. "It's my fault," he said, "I told him to talk to me if he needed to and –"

" – I'm sure, however," added Snape, "that you did _not _tell him to risk expulsion by breaking into a staff office to Floo off school grounds."

"Professor," said Harry, "considering the last time I tried to talk to Dumbledore I was dragged halfway across Britain, attacked by strange magical snakes, and lectured about prophecies and dreams, I doubt very much he'll be very upset with me."

Remus tried unsuccessfully to hide a smile. Snape glowered.

"But, to be sure he doesn't rouse the whole castle to look for me," Harry went on, backing to the fireplace, "I had better get back, hadn't I?"

"Isn't that what Professor Snape has been telling you?" asked Remus in amusement.

"Don't destroy the illusion," said Snape dryly. "He's trying to convince himself that leaving is his own idea, and consequentially in keeping with the Gryffindor policy to follow instinct rather than instruction."

Quick as lightning, Harry grabbed a handful of Floo powder, tossed it into the flames and disappeared with a shout of, "Dumbledore's Office!"

With an angry snarl Snape started after him, but Lupin caught his arm. "You're right about Gryffindor stupidity," he said. "But he's gotten back safe, and I need to talk to you about something he said."

Severus wrenched his arm away, face set in a furious scowl. "Make it quick, then, before Dumbledore thinks I've pushed the boy through the Floo and left him for dead."

"Harry told me he was ready," said Remus. "To kill, I mean. And he mentioned it was because of lessons with you, though he was quick to add that it was only Occlumency you taught him. He was lying, wasn't he?

Snape narrowed his eyes. "He might have been."

"Don't play games now, Severus," pleaded Remus. "I'm afraid the boy might go off on some hair-brained suicidal trip trying to save the world. He's convinced it's his personal responsibility to kill Voldemort, and –"

"He won't go off on his own because he knows he'll be followed and stopped, possibly at the expense of a few lives," answered Snape, tersely. "As for his idea that the Dark Lord is his responsibility, it seems justified considering the circumstances. The Dark Lord will attack at Christmas; the boy is ready to meet him."

"You don't understand," insisted Remus. "Harry strongly implied he'd been practicing and studying the Killing Curse. Now," he went on quickly before Severus could reply, " I realize that, all things considered, he does need to know these things, and that it is far better he be prepared than not.

"I also know that it is more than a bit illegal to teach these things, and that Dumbledore would never condone it or allow it. And I wanted to make sure that … whoever Harry's teacher might be … knew that he needed to watch his step and remind the boy to hold his tongue about it and be more careful."

Snape nodded slowly. "I'm sure that somebody who took risks of that nature would know of the possible consequences."

Remus nodded tersely. "Good." 

A loud pop interrupted them as Dumbledore's head appeared in the Floo. "Remus, my boy, I hear you've had a quite pleasant little chat with Harry."

Remus nodded. "I'm sorry I didn't immediately inform the school, but he was upset and needed calming down, and –"

"Quite alright," said Dumbledore. No harm done; all's well that ends well."

"I suppose it's useless to point out how many rules the boy broke?" asked Snape tiredly. "In addition to the old list there is deliberately disobeying and running from a Professor."

"His punishment is already taken care of, Severus," said Dumbledore mildly. "Good of you to send him back as promptly as you did. Good night."

Snape stared moodily at the fire once Dumbledore's head had popped out of it again. "With my luck he'll have set the boy detention with me on my only free afternoon left."


	68. Potions and Laundry

**Potions and Laundry**

"None of us will have much time free at all in the next few weeks," said Remus, causing Snape to finally turn from the fireplace. "Dumbledore will have us all working against the attack."

"We can't do any more against the attack than has already been done," scoffed Snape. "That is, aside from any action taken once the Dark Lord makes his first move."

"One can never be too prepared," contradicted Remus. "It will be good to arrange for as many of our people as possible to be in the castle, to review the Wards in place and to make sure that however few students remain in the Castle for the holiday can be evacuated at a moment's notice."

"I'm sure you remember the activation Spell you were given in case of emergency when you worked at Hogwarts?" asked Snape snidely. "It still exists."

"I supposed as much," said Remus. "And I also suppose that, just as nobody used it when confronted with an escaped convict and a werewolf then, they won't use it confronted with a Death Eater now. The Professors not in the Order will have to be notified that the Spell _is _to be used the moment anything untoward is noticed."

Snape shook his head. "So that the next time one of my weak-nerved colleagues sees an unexpected shadow he sends all of the students into Fidelius, whence they can only be returned once whoever the poor fool is that Dumbledore's set as Secret Keeper releases them? A Secret Keeper who, I am sure, is the most hard-to-find, paranoid, secretive, and unknown Wizard Dumbledore could think of. Nobody wants to be the one to explain missing children to distraught parents, and you can imagine what would happen if the Prophet realized that Hogwarts had lost the entire student body – "

"The _entire _student body?" repeated Remus. "Shouldn't only activate for those students _within _the Castle walls at the time of activation?"

"It would be logical," admitted Snape, "but the exact parameters of the Spell have never been made known, for obvious reasons. All any of us, aside from Dumbledore and whatever idiot is holding the Key, know for sure is that it will, in the event of activation, make the students completely impossible to find until their location is disclosed."

"I'd rather explain that we'd lost the children until the Keeper was found than explain that they'd been slaughtered by –"

"Lupin," interrupted Snape. "In the first place, the Dark Lord will hardly waste his time with students unless they were to be incredibly foolish and attract his notice. Secondly, if we evacuate the students, that happens to include Potter; and if Potter is not there, the Blood Magic will not be activated and Potter will neither be strengthened, nor will he be able to even attempt to harm the Dark Lord and all of our work up to now is wasted. Frankly, I'm willing to accept the danger to the others as a calculated risk, considering what we stand to gain."

Remus gave an exasperated sigh and sank into his chair. "There must be a way to remove the others, though," he insisted. "Even if that requires using a different Spell than is in place or somehow modifying the old one…"

Snape shook his head. "The fewer people that know that the Dark Lord will be attacking, the more likely it is that we succeed, and the less likely it is that some idiot lets it slip. Should he realize that Dumbledore knows his plans the Dark Lord will change them."

"Or," said Philomena, coming into the room, "you could simply close the school over the holiday."

Remus smiled at her. "I thought you went to bed."

"She merely wanted a dramatic exit," said Snape with a smirk. "She's been lurking in the hall."

She gave a careless shrug, "It worked."

"She's right, you know," said Remus. "It would probably make the most sense to simply close the school."

"Hogwarts hasn't closed its doors in over two centuries," retorted Snape. "We'd have to have a reason. And, as I've been telling you, we can't allow them to know the reason."

"So we lie," said Remus simply. "You know how quickly secrets get out at Hogwarts. All we need to do is quarantine Harry – and let slip to, oh, one or two students that the reason he's in the hospital wing is a case of Dragon Pox, and then –"

"An excellent idea," said Snape, suddenly animated. "We would have to be careful, though. Nobody must know that the true secret is that our secret is a lie – which means that as few people are to know as humanely possible. Preferably, not even Potter."

"It'll be rather hard to get him to fake a sickness if he doesn't know he has to, won't it?" asked Philomena snidely.

"With the right Potions he'd have all the symptoms," said Snape, ignoring her. "With a bit of extra work I could even fool Poppy."

"You can't dose the boy without letting him know," objected Remus, scandalized. "That's not Quidditch!"

"Life isn't Quidditch, Lupin," answered Snape, bemused. "Besides, it would be a lesson to him not to take Potions he doesn't recognize – if he swallows my Dreamless Sleep, he'll swallow anything."

Remus shook his head. "I am going to pretend I didn't just hear that. Gods, Snape, that sort of thing can get you sacked!"

Snape shrugged. "The boy needs sleep and I am willing to bet the fairly ridiculous salary and the pleasure and privilege of being bespattered with the various slimes my students consider potions on the fact that Dumbledore would forgive the means out of gratitude for the ends."

Remus gave Snape a pointed look, which was ignored.

"Actually," said Philomena, "it would probably best if even Dumbledore had no idea. He has the strangest ideas of what constitutes a 'need to know' situation."

"The whole idea is unethical," insisted Remus.

Snape gave a short, sharp laugh. "That's never stopped you before."

"What's father done that's unethical?" asked Philomena, intrigued.

"He used a Boggart to reveal the highly confidential information of the deepest fear of his students, secretly taught a third year a highly dangerous and potentially draining form of advanced Magic, occasionally indulged in dispensing medical treatment, and even exposed them to his Werewolf form."

"I never dispensed any medical treatment," objected Remus.

"You treated Dementor induced depression," insisted Snape.

"I gave them chocolate!"

"I think it's funny you're arguing about that instead of the rest of it," said Philomena. "Honestly, father. A boggart?"

"Snape's reasons for being upset about the boggart have nothing to do with protecting the privacy of his students," muttered Remus.

"What's that supposed to mean?" asked Philomena.

Snape scowled deeply and crossed his arms. "If we might return to the subject at hand, Lupin, I believe the best course is to dose the boy, causing the complete evacuation of all students, and as an added benefit, most of the professors as well."

"Wouldn't you want as many professors as possible to stay?" objected Philomena. "Wouldn't that be safer?"

"It would be safer for them to stay out of the way," said Snape. "I will need to stay to brew Potter some … healing …. Potions, Poppy will stay to monitor them, and will be quite handy to patch up any unexpected injuries resulting from this completely convoluted situation, and Dumbledore will stay on because he always does. I'm not sure about Minerva, but, should she stay, she is one of the few who would be a help rather than a hindrance."

"I have rather grave misgivings about the whole thing," said Remus.

"If anybody dies on Christmas, Lupin, I assure you that the most likely candidates are the Dark Lord and myself," said Snape sourly. "The Potter child has an annoying tendency to survive these things – and we've provided him with more protection than he has ever had before."

"But, Snape –"

"Even if it weren't for the fact that this is the course most likely to save the entire world, I'd do it simply for the privilege of being able to see the Dark Lord's face when he falls," said Snape. "It's sure to be priceless."

"I understand that you don't feel comfortable deliberately putting him in danger," said Philomena to Remus. "But isn't it better, since he is going to be attacked anyway, for there not to be too many potentially distracting people there? It may not be fair or very nice to lock him up in a hospital over Christmas, but isn't that better than risking the health of _all _of the students, or the potential of leaking the information? After all, it's better for him to be attacked now, when you know the when, the where, and the how of it, than it is to risk You-Know-Who changing his plans and attacking him at some point when you are not ready, probably with something you are not prepared for."

Remus sighed. "Look what not telling him our plans did to him last year."

"It would not have happened if Black had followed instructions and stayed in that thrice condemned house," snapped Snape. "But that was all for the best – the experience made the boy grow a backbone and a brain."

"You're completely heartless," accused Remus. "Sirius left because –"

"It was probable even better for Black," Snape went on mercilessly. "Sweet Merlin, man, he spent over a decade in Azkaban! He had no concept of the fact that everything changed while he was there – Azkaban ate away at the only sanity he ever had. All he had when he came out was a mad obsession to keep Potter safe – not to mention that, seeing a he had been in stuck in solitary confinement with no intellectual stimulation, he was still, for all intents and purposes, the same immature, bigoted idiot he was at twenty."

"Nobody else wanted to see it," said Remus morosely. "He … really didn't understand or comprehend how much the rest of us had changed. Of course, I thought, given time … "

"He might have adapted to circumstances given several years," admitted Snape, "but not in Grimmauld, and definitely not in the presence of Potter."

"He shouldn't have had to stay there," sighed Remus. "But we couldn't let him leave… he'd have been caught…"

"Oh, I don't think so," mused Snape. "After all, he managed fairly well the year before, traipsing about in tropical climes. I told Dumbledore as much, but he believed that, due to the risk of somebody using him against Potter, he should be kept where he could not be reached… Didn't work all too well, did it?"

"You don't sound to cut up about it," remarked Philomena.

"I am not going to pretend I didn't hate the man," snapped Severus. "I was merely trying to illustrate the extreme wisdom and happy results of telling people things they needn't know."

"It happened because we _didn't _tell Harry that – "

"It happened because we _told _Black what was going on in the Ministry," snarled Snape. "If we had not, he would not have insisted on coming along, insisted on proving to the world just how much long imprisonment effects even the most basic reflexes."

"That's harsh, even for you," said Remus. "After all, it's not as though it was the stunner that killed him, who'd expect to – "

"The rest of us would expect it," said Snape. "The rest of us knew what we were doing. Black was a liability."

Philomena coughed. "You two have drifted fairly far from the original point of this conversation."

Snape nodded and gave Remus an evil smile. "So, Lupin," he said, "do you want to do this my way, or do you want to risk the chance of some friend of yours who thinks he knows what he's doing pulling a page from Black's book and killing himself trying to rescue the boy? Shall I flip a coin?"

"I think I understand why nobody likes you, now," sighed Philomena. "There's absolutely no need to twist things like that."

"It's not my decision," snapped Remus. "It ought to be Harry's."

Snape shook his head. "If he's allowed to decide what's done with him, then his friends ought to be allowed to decide as well, and I'm sure you won't want them decided to watch his back, would you? You know very well that if we tell him, he tells his whole ever-so-secret student organization, and we'll have just what you want to avoid – a lot of overly eager, overly vulnerable, overly self-confident teenagers running about and _looking _for a battle to die in. But I suppose if their right to make stupid decisions trumps their safety…"

"How about you two make a compromise?" suggested Philomena. "Let Snape go ahead and fill Potter up with Potions, and you get to tell him _after _all extraneous and potentially dangerous or vulnerable people are locked out of Hogwarts because of danger of infections."

"If it makes you feel any better," said Snape, "you can pretend that you had just found out and were telling him immediately. No need to let him know you had any hand in it – Circe, why am I even trying? I should just cast Obliviate and get back to work."

"I know it's not ethical or very nice," said Philomena, "but, frankly, I think it solves a lot of problems at once. And besides, you still have a month to think of something else."

Remus gave an exasperated sigh. "There's no point in arguing with me," he said. "Seeing as I'm in absolutely no position to stop him, anyway."

"You could tell the Headmaster," suggested Philomena.

"That wouldn't get me anywhere," Remus sighed. "He'd probably think it was a good idea. And if anything went wrong his excuse would be that he's an old man that makes many mistakes…"

"That is one of his more annoying lines," agreed Snape.

Remus sighed. "It does make sense, and it will probably work, but…"

"You don't want to feel guilty in the event that it goes wrong," said Snape nastily. "If it will do your conscious any good, you can always insist it was all my fault. Everybody else does."

"Who says what was your fault?" asked Remus, distracted.

"Oh, haven't you noticed?" asked Snape with a false lightness. "I'm responsible for every odd death in the Order."

"Is that what 'everybody else' says," asked Philomena, "or is that what you think they should say?"

"Oh for Merlin's sake you foolish girl," snapped Severus. "Spare me your gibberish."

"I have an idea," said Remus, suddenly animated. "All we have to do is make Harry think he thought it up by himself. That'll be easy – all it would take is for him to overhear a conversation where someone expresses concern over the safety of the other students, and the other regretfully points out that the last time the Hogwarts was closed was due to the Dragon Pox epidemic of 1235…."

"There wasn't a Dragon Pox epidemic in Hogwarts," objected Philomena.

"Harry wouldn't know," dismissed Remus. "He leaves that sort of thing to Hermione. And he won't tell Hermione because he knows she'd stay if she knew what was going on, and that she could be hurt because of him if she did stay. So – "

Philomena gave a short laugh, "You realize that you just did exactly as you're suggesting. I mean, you only like the idea now that you've rethought it out yourself."

Remus gave her a mock glare. "Really, though," he said. "I think it wouldn't be too hard to do…"

"Except that Potter couldn't fake his way into the Hospital Wing on his own," Snape pointed out.

"He could if he knew which Potions he had to steal from your stores in order to do so," returned Remus. "If he overheard somebody describing the symptoms in all their gory detail… Everybody _knows _where you keep all those tempting appearance-altering Potions … "

"That is a deliberate teaching device," Severus put in. "They want the Potions because they cannot have them – and because they want them they're inspired to brew them illegally. Which is the only way on this good little green planet one could possibly get them to _practice. _And of course giving them Detention gets me the elbow grease needed to clean up after the first years…"

Philomena hid a smile.

"Think about it, Severus," said Remus. "You get the castle emptied, and to laugh at everybody who believes the fakery, I get Harry's safety in a way that won't have him hating us all forever, and Harry gets the blessed illusion of being able to fool all of us."

Snape put his head to one side, considering. "It would have to be our conversation," he said, at long last. "I don't want to bring in a third party."

"Oy," put in Philomena. "What am I? Two point five?"

"Which means I need an excuse to go to Hogwarts," mused Remus.

"Do you really need one?" asked Philomena. "Only Harry needs to see you there, and he won't be able to ask you why you're there without revealing that he was evesdropping…"

"He'll need an excuse for Dumbledore," said Snape. "Preferably something that seems completely obvious and self-explanatory so that he doesn't have to talk to you – have I mentioned you are a terrible liar?"

"In that case I'll just stop by on Sunday to pick up the Wolfsbane," said Remus.

"Finally, being a Werewolf comes in handy," said Philomena. "Call the Daily Prophet."

XXX

Harry Potter slid through the extremely narrow passageway, inching slowly, ever so carefully, towards the exit. "Not again," he moaned to himself, as he heard some part of his much-abused uniform tear. "Blast it…"

Finally he reached the end of the passageway, which opened into a large cavern, with a long drop to the floor of it. Fortunately, the floor was covered in a cushioning mass of the largest assortment of black clothing items Harry had ever seen in his life, swimming in a pool of steaming water. "Damnit," he cursed, staring at the soapy mess. "I'm late!"

A warning gurgling noise caused him to look back through the passage he had come from. Turning back to the cavern, Harry squinted into the darkness, finally making out the rough steps on the other side of the pool, leading up to a passage out.

Pausing to make sure the sticking Charm on his glasses was in place, Harry took a deep breath, and jumped.

A stomach churning moment later, he fought his way to the surface and took a few gasping breaths before beginning to swim.

Fighting his way through the many floating robes wasn't easy, and Harry found himself wishing he had never started on his hair brained quest in the first place.

"Sir!" squeaked a voice from the steps. "Sir is being in a bad place. If Sir is staying longer here, he is being drownded, and Mipsy is being in trouble. Mipsy is in charge of making sure nothing alive is being in the laundry when Gadny is turning on the water!"

Harry didn't answer until he managed to grab hold of the first step and haul himself out of the water.

"Students isn't being allowed in the laundry," said the House Elf, wringing her hands. "Students isn't laundry."

Harry spat out a mouthful of soapy water. "I was hoping to get through here while it was still dry," he gasped, scrambling up the steps, his soggy robes squishing noisily against the stone.

"Why is sir being in the laundry?" asked the Elf, once Harry had hauled himself to the top step and into the passage. "Sir must be knowing that the Elves is brining him his robes when they is being finished…"

"I was looking for somebody else's robes, though," admitted Harry, pulling out his wand and casting a drying charm on himself.

A roar of water interrupted them, and Harry winced as he saw the passage he had dived from a moment ago transformed into a roaring waterfall. Soon, the pool was a rising, bubbling, steaming whirlpool.

"Merlin," said Harry shakily. "Hogwarts will never cease to amaze me… Nippy did say that the passage _was _the machine, and not _to _the machine, but…. Wow."

"Sir is knowing Nippy!" squealed the House Elf, and Harry noticed for the first time that she was wearing a rather confusing garment made out of labels. "Sir is being Nippy's boy? Sir is the Potter?"

Harry nodded. "I would appreciate it if you didn't mention to anybody how close I came to drowning in the washing…. "

Mipsy nodded so fast that Harry had to catch her to prevent her from falling over. "Is the Potter needing anything? Mipsy is doing everything for the Potter!"

"Well," said Harry, following her bouncing excited form down the passage, which grew slowly narrower and narrower. "The only reason I just went for a swim was because I was trying to find something that belonged to Snape…"

X0X0X0

Carefully, Snape poured the salamander saliva into the Potion he was working on, which gave a satisfying hiss. He was beginning to regret using Malfoy's laboratory. Although the equipment was far better than that which he had at Hogwarts, Malfoy's laboratory happened to also contain Malfoy, whom Snape was finding increasingly irritating.

"You simply must admit that with the situation as dicey as it is, you'll need to take a few security precautions," Malfoy said as he snatched the empty cruet from Snape's hand.

Snape gave him an irritated glare, reaching for the stirring rod. "Oh, I don't know," he said. "The situation seems fairly stable to me – the Dark Lord attacks Hogwarts at Christmas. If we're lucky, he eliminates Dumbledore in anger when the Blood Magic fails to trigger the explosive end of the Potter boy. And, if we're extremely lucky, the Potter boy will get angry enough or lucky enough that he offs the Dark Lord for us. At which point there really isn't much in the way of our little triumvirat."

"I'm afraid the Dark Lord's anger will be taken out on the first available breathing body," said Malfoy, slamming the cruet onto the table. "And, I'm equally afraid that, considering it _is _Hogwarts we're talking about, the next available person will be … you."

Snape shrugged, as he began to stir in precise figure eights. "I doubt that. Who's to know how the Dark Lord will react when Potter fails to die? Or, for that matter, how Potter will react… should things go as they have in the past, then I believe that we'll be treated to rather a show – blood, Curses and Unforgivables flying about in the air, until the Dark Lord either wins or gets out while the going is good."

Malfoy sneered. "He's going to be angry when he doesn't succeed. He could go on a rampage."

Snape withdrew the rod and watched carefully as the Potion dripped from it back into the cauldron, gaging how well the saliva had worked as a thickening agent. "Somehow that idea is not altogether unappealing. There is an extraordinarily large concentration of people I rather dislike at Hogwarts. It would spare me a good deal of Poisoning later on… Hand me those Lacewings, will you?"

"For Merlin's sake," said Lucius, his irritation beginning to show. "I don't understand what you could possibly have against leaving Hogwarts for Christmas!"

"Oh, nothing," said Severus easily, taking the lacewings himself. "I just have something against spending it in your Manor."

"What's the matter with my Manor?" demanded Malfoy.

The corner of Snape's mouth twitched slightly as he sprinkled the lacewings into the brew in a perfect pentagram. "You've appalling taste in drapery."

Malfoy set his jaw. "The drapes can't possibly be as horrendous as to make you choose to spend Christmas with children or a raving megalomaniac!"

"Which one are you?" asked Snape almost flippantly, turning up the flame under the cauldron with a careless flick of his wrist, which he automatically shielded from view with his body.

"Not that kind of 'or'," snarled Malfoy.

Snape shrugged indifferently. "And besides, I was looking forward to finally being rid of your sycophant son for a few precious weeks."

Seizing the chance to change tactics, Malfoy stepped around the cauldron in order to be in Snape's field of vision. "Come to think of it," he said, trying to sound off-hand, "Narcissa did say she wanted him to stay in the castle over the holiday."

"My, maternal affection," said Snape. "Doesn't even put her murderous schemes aside for the holidays."

"Murderous… what are you talking about?" demanded Malfoy, distracted.

"Oh, come, come," said Snape dismissively. "I must have mentioned it before – it's obvious that Narcissa thinks you'll not be with us very long, and, should that not happen before your son reaches majority… did you know she was looking for a replacement husband?"

"Don't be ridiculous!" snapped Malfoy, his voice a trifle higher than usual. "Narcissa wouldn't – "

"Oh she would," said Snape with an evil smile. "In fact, one of the reasons I'm refusing your oh-so-generous invitation cum assassination attempt is that I simply cannot abide the idea of her trying to seduce me during the few precious weeks when my time is my own."

"Who would try and seduce _you_," sneered Malfoy.

"Your wife, as I've been saying," said Snape, knowing that the easiest way to get rid of Malfoy was to imply that he was not in control of his family. "She implied the other day that she wanted me to fall into her lap."

"When could you possibly have seen her?" scoffed Malfoy, one hand clenching and unclenching by his side.

"Oh," said Snape, as the potion finally swallowed up every trace of the lacewings. "She came to Hogwarts – upset about some letter the boy sent her."

"He doesn't send his mother letters," scoffed Lucius.

"Next you'll tell me she doesn't send him sweets and other indulgences more fitted to a boy half his age," returned Snape.

"First you say she wants to kill him," said Lucius, "now you say she's spoiling the boy. Make up your mind."

Snape smirked as he twirled a silver stirring rod between his fingers before beginning to stir the potion in an intricate pattern. "You know 'Cissa. She always has a plan B, the old harpy."

"Don't call her that," snapped Malfoy, rapidly losing his cool.

Snape's left eyebrow twitched. "What, harpy or 'Cissa?"

"See here, Snape," snarled Malfoy. "I let you use my laboratory, I take you into my confidence, offer you a third of Britain and – "

"And I refuse to come and spend Christmas with you," finish Snape. "I'm sure you're heartbroken."

"Damnit, Snape, give me one good reason why you don't want to," snapped Malfoy.

"Aside from peace and quiet, diverting suspicion, and a chance to watch a momentous event in history first-hand?" asked Snape rhetorically, slowly adding ammolite dragon scales. "It would be suspicious if I left Hogwarts for Christmas for the first time in twenty years; also, it would make denying my involvement with you, in the unlikely event that our plans fail, ever so much more difficult."

Snape watched the scales melt into each other until they formed a slightly opaque shell over the potion which bulged and cracked ever so often to release the heat which had built up beneath it. "Quite frankly, Lucius," he said, "it is also most advantageous for you."

"If it were most advantageous for me for you to stay in Hogwarts I would be arguing that you stay in Hogwarts!"

Snape finally turned away from his work and faced Malfoy. "The problem with you, Lucius," he said with an evil smirk, "is that you always assume that everybody else is slightly stupid and just waiting for you to plan things. Do you think that I am, or even Dolohov is, naïve enough to believe in your little triumvirate? If you are crafty enough to plan to join forces with your strongest allies until you can take over the world, and then murder them one by one to gain complete control ... don't you think the idea must have occurred to us as well?

"I've already told you that it won't be _my_ head on a platter when this is over," he continued, smirk replaced with a dangerous glare. "Don't be so foolish as to believe that I have no intention for _your _head to be there."

Malfoy took an involuntary step backwards.

"Of course," said Snape, with a sudden smile, "we're getting ahead of ourselves. After all, it's only the sixth of November! It doesn't make sense for any of us to go about killing each other until after the blood magic experiment... After all, if the Potter boy does not eliminate the Dark Lord, we will be obliged to – it would be invoneniant to be without allies in that contingency, would it not?" Snape's predatory grin widened. "All that being said, can we simply agree on no further assassination attempts before the Christmas attack?"

"The trouble with _you," _countered Malfoy, once he'd recovered his voice, "is that you think you're somehow immune to everything, that you can say what you please to whom you please, that you will always win and somehow slither out unscathed."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "There's no sense in threatening, now. You will need me alive – either to eliminate our Lord or Dumbledore, perhaps even Potter. I need you for the same reason, and Dolohov if things go wrong and we need someone to blame..."

For half a breath, Malfoy merely stared. Suddenly, he threw back his head and laughed. "I should have known you would calculate every risk," he said. "I may have a use for you after all."

X0X0X0

Harry had followed a very eager Mipsy through several damp, twisted passages smelling faintly of detergent, and had finally arrived in a small alcove which overlooked the room Harry had been looking for all along: the sorting chamber.

It was a vast room, for a House Elf, but average sized by human standards, designed for the impossible task of sorting thousands of items of laundry owned by careless adolescents and over-worked staff members.

There was a wall, appropriately colored, for each house, each wall lined with nine shelves which, as Mipsy had explained, were one for each year, one for staff, and one for 'Unexplainables'. Each shelf was divided into cavernous drawers, neatly labeled with the name of the student or staff member, or, in the case of 'Unexplainables' with symbols only a Laundry Elf would understand.

Harry watched from above, marveling at how the House Elves directed the flow of laundry to press and fold itself and then fly neatly into place as the drawers automatically slid open to receive them, all without having to personally touch a single sock.

"Sir is needing to be very fast if he is wanting to be taking something before it is drawer-ed," said Mipsy. "The drawers is sending things back to closets and trunks, they is slamming slow fingers."

Harry nodded, and focused below him at the Slytherin eighth shelf, where Snape's drawer was easily found near Sinistra's, and several apparently unused, unlabeled ones. Slytherins, it seems, did not tend to go into teaching.

He scanned the flying laundry like he would scan the Quidditch pitch for the Snitch, leaning over the edge, waiting for an item to come close to Snape's drawer. Finally, in the tumbling mass of robes and socks, he saw a set of handkerchiefs detach themselves, fold and zoom in the right direction.

Quick as lightning, he grabbed them a split second before they would have landed in the drawer, which snapped smartly shut as Harry nearly overbalanced. Quickly righting himself, without need of Mipsy's panicked grab for his ankle, Harry quickly pocketed his prize.

Hopefully, he thought, as he followed a chattering Mipsy back through the twisted maze of laundry chutes, the Protection Spell he had found would do the trick. Ever since Snape had applied the Blood Magic protection to his glasses, Harry had felt the nagging desire to repay him for it.

"Damned life debt loop," he muttered to himself, as he finally eased himself through a pipe back into the Gryffindor Common Room. "Well, at least now I know where my odd socks get to."


End file.
